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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398231">Some Kind of Wonderful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made'>fearfully_beautifully_made</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Best Laid Plans [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Background Mystrade, Blow Jobs, Carnival Rides, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Intimacy, Engagement photos, Established Relationship, Fair, Fluff, Fortune Cookies, I Promise Good Things Are Coming For Molly Hooper, I Should Have Said Sooner- This Fic is Not TFP Compliant, I'm not dealing with that mess in this fic, Intercrural Sex, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Saves the Day, M/M, Marriage, Nothing Goes Quite According to Plan, Rimming, Rosie Has an Allergic Reaction, Rosie Saves the Day, She is fine, Sherlock Holmes Loves Dogs, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock has a thing for John in suits, Smut, Tenderness, Topping from the Bottom, We're Learning to Have Conversations, Wedding Party Proposals, Wedding Planning, Wedding Quizzes, Winter wedding, all the happy endings, and for everyone, but it all ends well, dinner at Angelo's, lots and lots of love, playing with dogs, soft, victor trevor is alive, wedding cake tasting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>55,652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are getting married! </p><p>They should know by now that nothing can ever go according to plan. But they should also have learned by now that nothing can ever keep them from being together. </p><p>A Sequel to The Most Wonderful Time of the Year, but can probably be read as a stand alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Best Laid Plans [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080143</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Making a List</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! Here's the sequel to The Most Wonderful Time of the Year- thanks again for all of the love left on that fic; it really inspired me to work on that one everyday and to write this one. (If you didn't read that one, you will probably be just fine reading this one as a stand alone, if you prefer.) </p><p>This fic is looking like it's going to be between 15-20 chapters long (according to the outline, which can always lie once I get to writing). I will be trying to post updates at least twice a week (more often if I am able) and am aiming to have one posted by Sunday or Monday and the other posted by Thursday or Friday each week. </p><p>There aren't any warnings that I'm aware of at the moment- I'll add a note at the beginning of each chapter if there's a trigger warning. (No Archive Warnings will ever apply to this fic. The warnings would be for things like talking about childhood trauma, talking about John's ptsd from the war, etc.) That said, if there is a trigger warning that I miss and you'd like me to add it, please let me know. </p><p>As I said on the last work, I am going to respectfully request that if you don't enjoy this fic that you just hit the back button and move on to something else. I'm not a professional writer, I do this for fun because it makes me happy and because I hope it brings joy to others. &lt;3  Comments about a spelling/grammatical error or a Brit pic that I can fix in a few minutes are totally fine and welcome! Or if it's about something that doesn't make sense or a plot hole, awesome- thank you, I want to make things clear and fun to read! But if it's a complaint about who is topping or about dick size, please do not come at me. </p><p>I've had readers request that I write a wedding story before (because I am weak for proposals and I've written like ten of them into my works) but am honestly a little daunted by the prospect of writing a wedding fic. This is a year to push myself to do things I haven't done before and honestly, I just want to write fluffy things where people are happy- I could definitely use a little fluff and cheer after the year it has been. </p><p>The title is borrowed from the Michael Buble song "Some Kind of Wonderful" it's a delight, you should go give it a listen. </p><p>Lastly, the usual disclaimers apply; I don't make any profit off this work, please don't repost to other sites (reccing it on another site is fine), blah blah. </p><p>This chapter ended up being a lot more smutty than I intended... whoops?</p><p>Without further ado, I hope that you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With all of the excitement from Christmas day, John and Sherlock had decided that staying one more night at Sherlock's parents' wouldn’t hurt anything. They didn’t have plans to meet Mrs. Hudson until mid-afternoon to exchange presents, so they ought to have plenty of time.</p><p>After breakfast Rosie had gone off to play, John had gone up to shower, and father had headed off to the shops to fetch something mummy needed for dinner that evening. Sherlock was sitting, scrolling through his phone and looking at emails about potential cases when mummy flounced into the living room and sat down on the couch next to him. </p><p>She had proceeded, without any prompting or encouragement, to go through a list a mile long of things that he and John would need to do for the wedding, asking a million questions about what they’d already decided, all of which Sherlock was completely unprepared to answer. There was so much to think about when planning a wedding, it made him feel dizzy. And granted, Sherlock had helped plan and execute John’s first wedding but that was so much less pressure than this. In fact, he was fairly certain that this wedding was more pressure (for a variety of reasons) but also because of subconsciously (or consciously) everyone who'd been at his first wedding would be comparing the two. People had really enjoyed John’s first wedding. </p><p>He spent the rest of the morning worrying about it, running through the massive list in his mind over and over and worrying at all of the loose ends like threads on a jumper until the whole thing was a tangled up, hideous ball of yarn with no starting point and no ending point. It would be fair to say that he hadn’t been in the most festive of moods when they exchanged gifts with Mrs. Hudson. He did his best and Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem to mind but he knew, by the way that John was looking at him, that he was terribly convincing and John was concerned. </p><p>There wasn’t much time between unpacking everything, returning the rental car, making dinner, and trying to tidy their flat before they put Rosie to bed for them to talk, and Sherlock was thankful for that, it gave him more time to try to calm himself down and make sure that he'd put everything mummy had told him into a comprehensive list. More than once he found himself wondering if perhaps eloping might be the better option. </p><p>When they’d gotten back downstairs from putting Rosie to bed, John went to the kitchen and started making tea and Sherlock went to the living room and put his head in his hands. Where was he even supposed to start with all of this? </p><p>“Alright, spill,” John said, handing him a cup of tea and collapsing into the chair across from Sherlock. He had his Captain Watson face on and that did not bode terribly well. He was preparing to defend himself, “What’s wrong? Decided that the prospect of marrying me is too much? That you don’t want this after all? Was it just the chemical defect of sentiment clouding your judgement?” He steamrolled over the stunned reply Sherlock was trying to give. “Did you just get caught up in the magic of Christmas? You didn’t even seem excited when we were telling Mrs. Hudson, who was thrilled for us, by the way," he sounded determined, but underneath that there was a current of hurt, of heartbreak, Sherlock winced. "If you want out, now is the time, Sherlock. I won't force you into something you don't want.”</p><p>“You’ve misunderstood, John,” he said, holding out his hands in a placating gesture.</p><p>“Have I?” he asked. “I mean you’ve told me a thousand times in a thousand ways that you don’t do this,” John said gesturing between the two of them. “Love’s a chemical defect found on the losing side, you’re not interested, you’re married to your work-”</p><p>Sherlock interrupted before another word could come back to bite him, “I was wrong,” he said. John’s mouth froze mid-word. “I was wrong,” he said, moving to kneel in front of John’s chair so he could cup his face. “I was afraid of how much loving someone can hurt you.”</p><p>“I have hurt you,” John murmured, covering Sherlock’s hand with his, “Over and over. And I am under no delusion that I will hurt you again, not that I want to,” he hastened to add. “It’s just that sometimes I say and do stupid things and-”</p><p>“We both do. But I know,” Sherlock replied, “I know that I want to be married to you. I know I want to spend the rest of my life, or as long as you’ll have me, with you.”</p><p>“You’re sure?” John asked, searching his eyes, “It’s not just the magic of Christmas and the endorphins from sex, or-”</p><p>“Shut up,” Sherlock said and he leaned forward to stop the idiotic words that were coming out of John’s mouth. “I love you,” he said, slowly and firmly without a trace of questioning. </p><p>“I love you, too,” John replied, and he seemed to be calming down a bit. “So if you're not regretting this decision, what’s been going on in that brain of yours?” he asked, brushing his fingers into Sherlock’s curls and rubbing his thumb against Sherlock’s temple. </p><p>“What if we just eloped?” </p><p>John’s brow furrowed, “Is that what you want?”</p><p>“Maybe?” Sherlock said, the bubble of anxiety pooling up in his gut once more at the thought of all they’d have to do for a wedding. “What do you think of eloping? What do you want?”</p><p>John was quiet for a moment, composing his thoughts and thinking it through, which Sherlock appreciated. “Eloping wouldn’t be my first choice,” he said finally, rubbing his hand over Sherlock's neck. “Look,” he started, then he swallowed, “I will do whatever makes you happy. But honestly, I meant what I said, I literally want to tell the entire world that you agreed to be mine. I want a ceremony with all of the bells and the whistles. I want our friends and family to be there. I want toasts to our happiness. I want to wear matching suits and have Rosie be our flower girl. I want to ask Harry to be my best man. I want it to be a perfect day for us to look back on when we’re old and grey. I want to make a big deal out of how much I love you and how happy I am that we made it here.”</p><p>“Well, when you say it like that,” Sherlock sighed, leaning forward to press his forehead against John’s. “You’re such a romantic, you sweep me right up with you.”</p><p>John shook his head, “Why do you want to elope?”</p><p>He sighed again, “It’s a lot,” he said. “All of the planning and the organizing; it was a lot for your first wedding and Mary had me. Mummy was talking to me this morning about all of the things we need to do; picking a date, invitations, menu planning, choosing a location, renting out multiple spaces, save the dates, engagement photos, attire, skin care and hair regiment since I’m ‘not getting any younger’,” he echoed, “Musicians, transportation, our honeymoon, guest lists-”</p><p>“Okay,” John interrupted. “Okay. Let's just take a breath," he paused so Sherlock decided he was serious and took a slow deep breath before exhaling. Then John continued, "So, it’s not that you don’t want a wedding, it’s that we’re feeling overwhelmed with the amount of work it takes.”</p><p>Sherlock nodded.</p><p>“Right. Okay,” he said. “This we can manage,” he stood up and stepped over and past Sherlock, “Okay,” he said again, settling firmly into Captain Watson problem solving mode. </p><p>It was more attractive than it probably should have been.</p><p>“When do you want to get married? Do you have a season in mind?” John asked as he picked up his laptop and plopped down on the couch, patting the seat beside him for Sherlock to come over to. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “Maybe summer? I don’t really care.”</p><p>“Great,” John said, with a smile at him, “Let’s do the summer. How about this July?”</p><p>“No, mummy says you need at least a year to do everything properly.”</p><p>“A year?” John asked incredulously, frowning a bit. “So if we wait until July we’re waiting nineteen months.” And he didn’t say it but Sherlock could tell he was re-thinking saying no to eloping.</p><p>“We could always have a winter wedding,” Sherlock offered. </p><p>“Do you want to get married in the winter?” John asked him.</p><p>Sherlock shrugged, “I want to get married to you. The time of year matters significantly less to me.”</p><p>John leaned over and kissed him, “Well, December has been a great month for us. What’s a year from today?”</p><p>“December 26th,” Sherlock replied.</p><p>“Let’s get married on December 26th, then,” John said.</p><p>He nodded, “December 26th,” he confirmed with a smile. </p><p>“There,” John said, “we’ve planned one thing and you can tick it off the list in that brain of yours.”</p><p>He grinned at him and turned his attention to the laptop that John was typing laboriously at. John was pulling up an old email from Mary and he seemed to sense Sherlock’s discomfort, “I don’t care about the details,” he said. Then he added, “I never cared about the details for that wedding.” </p><p>“That is true,” Sherlock agreed.</p><p>The other man laughed, “But she used a site to help track what we needed to do and gave you a timeline of when everything needed to be done by. Maybe if we have a plan of attack it will help us feel like we’ve got this under control.”</p><p>“That’s a good thought.”</p><p>“Why thank you,” John replied. “I have those from time to time.” He clicked on an email, “Ah ha! Here it is,” he said. He typed in the website’s address and a page pulled up with a checklist that laid out by month (or by week once you got to the last month) what you needed to do and when you needed to do it. </p><p>“This is very helpful,” Sherlock said, taking the computer from John to look more closely and scrolling through the checklist. “And they have resources to help you with planning, choosing decorations that suit you, and making invitations and save the dates.” He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of this. </p><p>“Do you feel better?” John asked gently.</p><p>Sherlock looked over at him, at his soft eyes, his gentle smile, and he loved him. “I love you,” Sherlock told him.</p><p>John let out a small chuckle, his smile widening, “I love you, too,” he said. “Since we picked a date already, could we leave the rest of the planning for this month until tomorrow? There is something I’d much rather be doing.”</p><p>“Oh?” Sherlock asked, he couldn’t help but smile at the way John’s eyes had lit up with mischief.</p><p>He nodded and took the computer out of Sherlock’s hands and set it on the coffee table, then he straddled Sherlock’s hips, tilted Sherlock’s head back, and kissed him. </p><p>Sherlock groaned, clenching his hands in John’s jumper as he opened his mouth and allowed John entrance. He kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him until every other thought in Sherlock’s mind was gone, until the only thing his brain was filled with was <em> John. John. John.  </em></p><p>When John pulled back he murmured, “I have wanted to do that all day,” he said. “Since the moment I saw that little crease between your eyebrows,” he added, pressing his lips to the spot where Sherlock knew the stress crease formed. </p><p>Before Sherlock could respond, John started kissing him again and Sherlock melted into him, slouching a bit so he could rest his head on the back of the couch while John kissed him. John's hand slid down Sherlock’s chest, tweaking one of his nipples and rolling it lightly through the fabric of his shirt. He arched into John’s fingers and groaned into the kiss.</p><p>“Do you like that?” John asked against his lips, continuing to toy with his nipple.</p><p>Sherlock nodded and leaned up to capture John’s lips once more. </p><p>John kept kissing him but arched away so both of his hands could start working on Sherlock’s buttons. </p><p>Instantly he missed the way John’s fingers had felt on his nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his groin, but he hoped that once John got his shirt unbuttoned his fingers would return. And he imagined that the skin on skin contact would feel much better. </p><p>The other man’s fingers undid as many buttons as he could before reaching his trousers, then he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers so he could tug the hem of Sherlock’s shirt out. With a pleased little hum he undid the last few buttons and opened Sherlock’s shirt.</p><p>John being capable of doing all of that while still kissing Sherlock until he felt like his brain was melting was more sexy than Sherlock could have ever imagined and he could feel heat pooling in his groin in response. John continued, oblivious to the fact that multitasking was apparently one of Sherlock’s unknown kinks, and let his lips trail to Sherlock’s jaw. He kissed a line from his right ear to his chin, then pressed a line of sucking kisses down his neck as his hands pushed Sherlock’s shirt off his shoulders and out of the way. </p><p>“I love you,” John groaned against his collarbone. “This need to possess, fulfill, love, and give you pleasure,” he sucked a bruise into the spot where Sherlock’s neck met his shoulder. </p><p>“Fuck,” Sherlock gasped, hands clenching in John’s hair and holding his head there as he tilted his own face away to give John more room. </p><p>“I just want you so badly,” John breathed before nipping lightly at the bruise and making Sherlock’s entire body jerk against his. John continued his journey down Sherlock’s body until he reached his nipple. He flicked his tongue against it and it came to a peak that physically ached under John’s teasing. </p><p>“Please,” he moaned, not even entirely sure what he was asking for. </p><p>John seemed to know, though, as he sucked his nipple into his mouth and bit down lightly. </p><p>Sherlock’s cock twitched inside of his trousers and John, whose groin was pressed close to Sherlock’s, must have felt it because he let out a moan and sucked a little bit harder. </p><p>He continued to tease Sherlock’s nipple; sucking, licking, and nipping while he moaned as though this was arousing him as much as he was arousing Sherlock. </p><p>Once Sherlock was all but writhing on the sofa underneath him, his hands clenching in John’s hair and his jumper, John moved again, sliding off of the sofa and onto his knees between Sherlock’s legs. “John,” Sherlock whimpered, lifting his hips to help as the other man started tugging down his trousers and his pants far enough that he could free his cock. </p><p>After he succeeded, John buried his face in Sherlock’s groin, trailing his nose up and down the base of Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock had to clench his eyes shut and dig his nails into his palms to keep from embarrassing himself by orgasming way too soon. </p><p>“I want to make you feel so, so good,” John murmured, trailing his lips along Sherlock’s cock as he spoke. </p><p>“Hnngh,” was the only response Sherlock could manage to that proclamation.</p><p>John moved again, taking the base of Sherlock’s erection in his hand and Sherlock could feel his hot breath ghosting over the head. “Sherlock,” he said, and it was like he’d never heard his name said before, it sounded so good, so lovely and melodic. “Sherlock,” John repeated, “Look at me.”</p><p>Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down at John, he met John’s heated gaze and their eyes held for a moment. And he forgot everything else. In that moment he didn’t know where or when he was, it was like he’d lived a million life times and they all converged and collapsed into this moment. Surely one lifetime wasn’t enough to make him feel all of this emotion, all of this connection to another person. In this moment when he was lost in the ocean depths of John’s eyes, all that mattered was the two of them; all that mattered was that John was here and he loved him and Sherlock loved him back.</p><p>John leaned forward, keeping Sherlock’s eyes locked on his as he took the exposed glans of Sherlock’s erection into his mouth, sucking lightly as he tongued the slit. </p><p>Instinctively, his eyes slipped shut to block out the visual stimulus and focus on the feeling of John's mouth on him. </p><p>John pulled back and Sherlock whined at him. “Look at me,” John said again.</p><p>With a great amount of effort he did. </p><p>“Watch,” John breathed before he slid his mouth back onto Sherlock’s cock, massaging the head with his tongue and moaning when Sherlock cock emitted a stream of precome. </p><p>“John,” he moaned, sliding his fingers into the silky strands of John’s hair while his other hand clenched against his shoulder.</p><p>He groaned in reply and sank lower on Sherlock’s cock, holding the base as he slid about halfway down, and then drew back up to the top, sucking as he went. John set a steady rhythm, gradually taking him deeper and deeper on each pass, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock’s face. </p><p>When John bottomed out, his nose pressed against Sherlock groin, Sherlock’s eyes clenched shut and John swallowed around him once before pulling off and saying, “Look at me,” once more. “I want to see you when you come.”</p><p>Sherlock opened his eyes and John immediately sank back down on his cock, sucking and slurping as he bobbed, his nose brushing Sherlock’s groin every time he sunk down to the root of his erection, swallowing and clenching his muscles tight around Sherlock's cock. </p><p>He could feel his orgasm coalescing at the base of his spine, his toes digging into his socks as he fought to keep his eyes open and trained on John’s. Then John’s hand reached between his legs and he rubbed two fingers over Sherlock’s perineum. One circle was all it took before Sherlock was moaning through his release, keeping his eyes fixed on John’s while he orgasmed. </p><p>John sucked him through it, bobbing his head and drawing out his pleasure until Sherlock’s body went boneless on the sofa. Then he climbed back up beside Sherlock and drew him into his arms, kissing his face and murmuring soft, sweet words as Sherlock clung to him, his body trembling.</p><p>After some time (Sherlock wouldn't have been able to say how long if a gun had been held to his head) the other man spoke, lips moving against Sherlock's temple. “I love you,” John murmured and Sherlock couldn’t be sure if it was the first time he’d said it or if he’d said it a hundred times already since he'd orgasmed.</p><p>“I love you, too,” Sherlock replied.</p><p>“Alright?” John asked.</p><p>He nodded, tucking his nose into John’s neck and inhaling. “I feel like you sucked my brain out through my cock,” he groaned in reply, everything felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.</p><p>John chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “I think you’ll make a full recovery.” He brushed another kiss over Sherlock’s temple, “You should go shower and put on your comfiest pajamas. I’m going to order in from that Indian place you like. And then we’re going to eat dinner in bed while we cuddle.”</p><p>“What about you?” Sherlock protested, pulling back to look at John.</p><p>“It can wait. You hardly touched your lunch or your dinner.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he said at the same time that his stomach chose to growl. He glared down at it, “traitor,” he muttered.</p><p>John kissed his cheek, “It’s alright. Honestly. Go shower and I’ll come in once the food gets here. I think I even have a bottle of wine tucked up in the cupboard somewhere.”</p><p>“Fine,” Sherlock conceded as he stood up on wobbly legs, he started to try to pull up his pants and trousers but gave it up as a lost cause when his fingers refused to cooperate and left them in a puddle on the living room floor. </p><p>“Fuck,” John breathed behind him and Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk to himself before turning and giving John a wink. He could feel John's gaze on him as he sauntered all the way to the bathroom. </p><p>As he was showering he decided that he didn’t want to entirely listen to John’s plan, so he washed himself thoroughly but quickly and headed into the bedroom. He spread a towel out on the bed, grabbed his tube of lube from his nightstand, and climbed on the bed. If his estimations were correct, he only had about 5 minutes to get this set up and to the point that John would abandon his dinner plans to fuck Sherlock instead.</p><p>After coating his forefinger in lube, he got onto his knees and rested his forehead on his left arm as he slowly rubbed the lube in a circle around his entrance. He wasn’t hard yet but that didn’t matter as he consciously worked to relax the muscles keeping his entrance clamped shut tightly, with a slow exhale he pressed his first finger in. It felt a little odd to be doing this when he wasn’t aroused, but he called to mind the image of John Watson on his knees swallowing him down, and that was more than enough to make his finger start to rock in and out of his body, circling and curling as it worked to stretch him to make room for John.</p><p>He added a second finger, and had just started thrusting and scissoring when John walked in with their food and wine on a tray. Sherlock watched with half lidded eyes as John took in the sight of Sherlock spread bare and working himself open for him, watched his pupils dilate sharply and his hands clench on the tray handles so he didn’t drop the food.</p><p>“Sherlock,” he groaned, “What-”</p><p>“Fuck me,” he replied but it came out less like the command he’d been hoping for and much more like a pleading, begging whimper. </p><p>Regardless, it seemed to work for John who set the tray down on the chair in the corner and stripped his clothes off on the way back to the bed. “Pass me the lube,” he said as he climbed on the bed behind Sherlock. </p><p>Without removing the fingers that were still thrusting and stretching him, Sherlock handed the lube to John. </p><p>He took it but then did nothing as he continued to watch for a long moment, “You are so bloody gorgeous,” he said as he leaned forward and trailed kisses from the top of Sherlock’s spin to his tailbone. Then a finger lined up next to Sherlock’s and he pressed it in alongside of them; John matched his tempo and started to thrust inside of him, his finger twisting and curling with Sherlock’s. </p><p>He groaned and turned his head more fully into his arm, focusing on the sensation of John thrusting inside of him, his hips pressing back to meet their fingers. </p><p>After a few moments like this, John’s middle finger lined up next to his entrance, “Yes?” he asked, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s sacrum.</p><p>Sherlock groaned, his now half-hard cock twitching in interest. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Yes, John.”</p><p>Slowly John worked his finger inside and Sherlock's body ached as it was spread open by their four fingers moving and working together. </p><p>He probably could have continued like that for the foreseeable future, but John twisted his hand and his fingers curled <em> just so </em> as they brushed over Sherlock’s prostate. He felt like he’d touched a live wire, everything from his fingers and toes to the roots of his hair felt hot and tingly, his hips stuttered and he wasn’t entirely sure if his body was seeking more of that sensation or trying to get away from it. </p><p>“Alright?” John murmured into his spine. </p><p>“Can I have your cock now?” Sherlock blurted. </p><p>John huffed a laugh against his spine, “Always so impatient,” he said but he slipped his own fingers out and guided Sherlock’s hand back to the bed just the same. He still didn’t shove his cock in right away, for several moments he just trailed his hands along Sherlock’s buttocks and thighs, stroking his skin and placing light kisses to the fleshy part of his bottom, trailing his fingers teasingly along Sherlock's crease and over his hole. </p><p>“John, please,” he whined, and honestly, how many times was he going to have to beg the other man tonight?</p><p>“Alright,” John soothed, “Alright.” One of his hands left Sherlock’s body while the other spread Sherlock’s buttocks, giving him a clear path to his entrance. </p><p>Slowly, John rubbed the head of his cock over Sherlock's hole, teasing for a moment before he started to press his lubed cock more against Sherlock’s entrance. “Breathe,” he murmured, his breath hot on Sherlock’s neck, sending tingles racing up his spine.</p><p>Sherlock did as he was told and the head of John’s cock breached him, making him moan and tilt his hips further up and back. </p><p>John rocked his hips, slowly working his way deeper and deeper, stretching Sherlock open even further, until his hips were pressed flush against Sherlock’s arse. The other man covered Sherlock’s back with his torso, pressing kisses along every inch of his neck and shoulders that he could reach. “Okay?” he asked after a moment.</p><p>Sherlock nodded, “Yeah,” he breathed, just in case John wanted to hear him say it. The sweet ache radiated through his core and into his thighs, spreading light and pleasure throughout his body.</p><p>He began to move, rocking in and out, going slow and letting Sherlock’s body adjust to the stretch. Gradually as Sherlock's body opened for him, he started to pick up the pace, rolling his hips and bottoming out every time before pulling out until just the head of his cock was still inside. </p><p>“Can I touch your cock?” John asked, “Or are you still too sensitive?”</p><p>“I’m not sure,” Sherlock replied honestly.</p><p>“Okay,” John said, “Just tell me if it’s too much.” And he reached down and stroked Sherlock’s erection.</p><p>It sent fire through his entire body, he’d never felt anything like it. His body clenched hard around John’s cock and he let out a long moan as his body tried to process the sensations. </p><p>“Okay,” John said again, kissing the nape of his neck and letting his hand trail back to massage Sherlock’s testicles instead, “Better?” he murmured. He rocked against Sherlock's body, not pulling out more than an inch or two as Sherlock started to relax again. </p><p>He nodded, the fire dulling in his veins and his body settled into the sensations of John’s cock rocking in and out of him once more. The slow heat of pleasure and arousal diffusing through his groin, so different from the bright, blazing arousal he'd felt earlier but just as good.</p><p>John’s hand rotated a bit so that he was still cupping Sherlock’s balls but his knuckles were pressing against his perineum. Sherlock’s voice let out a high, keening sound without his permission.</p><p>“Does that feel alright?” John asked, his hips starting to thrust a bit faster.</p><p>“Yes,” Sherlock wailed. “Fuck, yes, John. Do not fucking stop.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John panted against his neck as he continued plowing into Sherlock. </p><p>“John,” he gasped. “John,” he repeated, voice high and desperate and he hardly recognized it as his own.</p><p>“Yes,” the other man replied. “Yes, that’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, love.”</p><p>Sherlock orgasmed again, the weak stream of ejaculate leaving his cock inaccurately reflecting how intense and good it felt. </p><p>With a low groan John emptied inside of him, his hips thrust reflexively a few more times before he stilled and his body sagged against Sherlock’s. </p><p>Sherlock reached back and grasped John’s hip, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together until the aftershocks had run their course. With a groan he lowered his body onto the mattress and John collapsed next to him. </p><p>After they caught their breath, John turned his head to look at Sherlock, “You saying ‘fuck’ shouldn’t be as hot as it is.”</p><p>Sherlock laughed and rolled onto his side, cuddling against John’s chest. “That felt really, really good.”</p><p>John brushed his sweaty curls back off his forehead and planted a kiss there, “Good, you absolute menace.” </p><p>His lips curled up and he kissed John’s shoulder. </p><p>“That could have waited until after you ate, you know,” he added. </p><p>“But it was so much more fun than eating.”</p><p>“You’re mad,” John replied.</p><p>“And you love me, so what does that say about you?” he teased.</p><p>“That I am absolutely barking,” John replied easily, "But I wouldn't change that for the world," he added, giving Sherlock one more squeeze before climbing out of bed and heading for the loo to fetch a flannel. </p><p>After they got cleaned up they ate their Indian food, which had cooled a bit but neither of them minded as they ate and teased each other and started imagining what their winter wedding might be like. </p><p>As Sherlock drifted off to sleep later he found that all of the anxiety that he’d had at the beginning of the day had drifted away. He knew that it would probably be back, but for now they had a plan and they had each other, and that was enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed! See you again soon! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Proposals Galore (12 Months Out)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! </p><p>Thanks so much for the kind comments and kudos left on this fic- as I've said before, they really mean so much to me and they encourage me to keep writing. &lt;3 </p><p>If you don't leave comments that complain about the way I write sex in my fics, feel free to skip the mini rant and jump right to the fic. Enjoy Chapter 2! Quadruple date to propose to your wedding party? What could possibly go wrong?</p><p>Next, a word of explanation: as you may have noticed, I removed the TopJohnWatson tag from this fic. Apparently, I do not understand what this tag means because *every time* I use it I have readers who come out of the woodwork and make it abundantly clear that what I write is not TopJohn. I have traditionally used it to mean that in the physical sense, John is the one inserting his erection into Sherlock's body. But it seems like the thing that people are expecting when they see that tag is... not that. So I took it off; I don't want people to feel disappointed that this fic is not what they are looking for and I, frankly, don't want to read the comments complaining about sex (and dick size, and who tops, and how long, and whatever else). </p><p>I respectfully ask, as I did in the last chapter, if you are only commenting to complain about the sex, please hit the back arrow and read something else that can give you what you are looking for. I don't mean to be an asshole, but if you are looking for the sex to be "the point" (for lack of a better word) and not a medium for the point to be expressed through, you are probably going to be disappointed with this fic . I don't want to waste your time if that is what you are looking for. </p><p>(Edit: to be clear I'm *always* down for nice comments about the sex scenes [or anything else], I always LOVE to read comments about the sex scenes being intimate and loving and hot, so if you are one of the people who likes my smut and leaves me encouragement about it, *please* know this is not directed at you! I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS.)</p><p>As another related side note, other constructive comments are welcome- if you think something is unclear, there are grammatical errors, typos, I've gotten something out of order for wedding planning, there are plot holes, etc., I'm totally glad to hear that and I will do my best to fix those things, but I will never write smut well enough for some readers and that is okay. ykinmkato. </p><p>If it would be helpful, I'm glad to post a little TW in the beginning of any chapter with sex and just let you know what's going on before hand, but I don't really want people stumbling on this work because they searched for a tag like "TopJohnWatson".</p><p>**TL;DR: (because I know that was a lot to dump on you guys) I just can't read more comments about the size of a character's dick or complaints about who tops and how they do it.</p><p>Anyway (if you made it through that rant) I really hope that you enjoy this chapter! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, I was thinking,” John said the next afternoon when he and Sherlock sat down to work on wedding planning after sending Rosie downstairs to bake with Mrs. Hudson, a favorite pastime the two of them shared. </p><p>“Well, that’s never a good sign,” Sherlock remarked, barely even looking up from the guest list he was working on.</p><p>He nudged his leg under the table, “I’m serious.”</p><p>Sherlock stopped writing things on the list and looked up, “Sorry. What were you thinking?”</p><p>“You’re asking Mycroft to be your best man, right?” John asked, even though Sherlock hadn’t ever explicitly stated that.</p><p>“I suppose,” Sherlock replied with a sniff. “I don’t know who else I’d ask.”</p><p>“Good,” John said, “So, I was thinking that you should ask Molly to be your other groomsman,” he paused consideringly, “Groomsperson? Groomswoman?” Then he shrugged, “Whatever. Then I can ask Greg to be my other groomsman and our sides can match.”</p><p>Sherlock frowned, “You didn’t care about the sides matching at your last wedding.”</p><p>“Yes, well, then I only wanted you by my side,” he said, “and I confess to feeling a little bitter that I was getting married when I had so many conflicting feelings about you,” he added awkwardly. “So. There’s that.”</p><p>A small, pleased grin broke out across Sherlock’s face at that and he clasped John’s hand and brought his knuckles to his lips. </p><p>“And the pictures looked stupid,” he said, quirking a grin at Sherlock.</p><p>“I tried to tell you that would happen,” the other man replied. And he had, he’d told John he should balance out the parties, Mary shouldn’t have four bridesmaids and a maid of honor when John only had Sherlock. John had reasoned that the other four girls could just partner up and walk down the aisle together (which they had) but the pictures had been totally lopsided.</p><p>“So you’ll ask Molly, then?”</p><p>“You don’t think it will hurt her feelings?” Sherlock asked.</p><p>“I think she would rather be asked than not,” John replied. Then he added, “Besides, she’s been seeing that bloke from accounting,” he added slyly.</p><p>“What?” Sherlock asked, perking up curiously. “No she’s not.”</p><p>“Yes she is,” John all but sing-songed at him, he loved it when he knew something that Sherlock didn’t. “She has been for almost a month.”</p><p>“I would have known,” Sherlock said, affronted.</p><p>“But you haven’t really seen her in the past month because you’ve been so preoccupied with making Christmas perfect,” John said. It wasn’t healthy to feel this smug, surely.</p><p>Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “But you’ve been seeing her while putting the photo book together.”</p><p>“Yes,” John confirmed. “I know all sorts of things about Craig,” he added. “She was really quite eager to tell me about him.” </p><p>“You’re gloating,” he accused.</p><p>“I am,” he affirmed with a grin. </p><p>Sherlock shook his head at him, “Well I bet you haven’t been able to deduce if he’s a serial killer or not.”</p><p>“Yeah, but in my defense, Molly dated Moriarty and even you didn’t realize he was a psychopath.”</p><p>He huffed at him.</p><p>“Just teasing,” John said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s lips before his feathers got too ruffled. “I’m sure she very much looks forward to you meeting him.” This was probably mostly true. </p><p>“I know what we should do,” Sherlock said, folding his hands gleefully under his chin. “Let’s have brunch.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“With all of them. We invite everyone we want in our wedding party and Harry and Molly can bring their significant others and we can vet everyone at once.”</p><p>John narrowed his eyes at him, “You had better find Amelia all but flawless.” Then, “Wait. What am I saying? Why would we have brunch with our wedding party to vet their partners?”</p><p>“Well we’re not telling <em> them </em> that’s why they’re invited to brunch,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’re just inviting them for fun and then we’ll do the whole wedding party proposal thing with the little gifts and they’ll think that was why we invited them. Meanwhile we can sneakily interview their choice of significant other.”</p><p>“Deviously brilliant,” John replied, leaning in to peck his lips. "Diabolical, even," he added, because it always made the other man smile and John was weak for that pleased little grin. “Just one question, what in the world is a wedding party proposal?”</p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes again, “John, I love you but seriously, I need you to care about this wedding more than you did about your last one.”</p><p>John grimaced, “Done.”</p><p>“They’re more often bridesmaid proposals than wedding party proposals, but as neither of us are brides, it doesn't make sense to call them that,” he shrugged. “Mary gave hers cute pendants for them to wear at the wedding and ‘proposed’ over a coffee date. Does this ring any bells?” </p><p>Not at all. “Would you believe me if I said yes?” he asked, smiling winningly at the other man. </p><p>“Not a bit.” </p><p>“See? You’re so smart,” John said with a grin, “It’s why I’m marrying you,” he added with a wink.</p><p>“Flattery will get you nowhere, John Watson,” Sherlock replied.</p><p>“We both know that’s not entirely true,” John quipped, thinking of the way that Sherlock’s face changed when he compliments him; of his sweet, shy little smiles; of the way he’d started to open up to John after he’d realized that John was genuinely amazed by him.</p><p>“Well,” Sherlock said, “I still need you to pay attention to this wedding.”</p><p>John paused, realizing that this was a real concern for the other man, “Sherlock,” he said, setting down his pen and turning his full attention on the other man. </p><p>Sherlock didn’t look up, he just continued to scratch away on the notepad; John had a sneaking suspicion that if he looked at the paper, he’d see nothing but scribbles.</p><p>“Sherlock,” he repeated. He looked up at him under his fringe and John reached over and covered Sherlock’s hand with his, “I am in this. Okay? You aren’t doing this alone.”</p><p>“Okay,” Sherlock breathed. Then he nodded and said, “Okay,” once more. “What if we did lunch instead?” he asked, his face clearing as his mind changed tracks and he looked more fully at John.</p><p>“I’d be open to lunch,” John replied, not really caring but not wanting to say that after the conversation they’d just had.</p><p>“Good, because I have the perfect idea for how to propose to them over Chinese food.”</p><p>-----------</p><p>
  <em> <strong> <span class="u">8 Days Later</span> </strong> </em>
</p><p>It was stupid to be nervous about “proposing” to your wedding party. It was even a proposal, not really. And all of them were going to say yes; John couldn’t even imagine a different outcome. There was no reason to be nervous.</p><p>John <em> knew </em> this. Yet he ushered Sherlock out of the house thirty minutes before they were supposed to leave and then when they got to the restaurant John drank an entire glass and a half of water just to have something to do with his hands. He was sweating in his jumper and he suddenly wished he hadn’t worn the damn thing. </p><p>It didn’t help that Sherlock was sitting next to him tearing his napkins into squares and folding them into tiny, floppy cranes. </p><p>“Is it hot in here?” he asked. “Yeah, it must be fucking hot in here,” he said, tugging at the neck of his sweater. </p><p>“Will you calm down, please?” Sherlock asked.</p><p>“Pot,” he said, gesturing at Sherlock and his cranes, “kettle,” he finished pointing at himself. </p><p>Sherlock looked taken aback for a moment and John realized his tone had been less than stellar.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous and I know it’s completely barmy but I just can’t seem to-” </p><p>The bell over the door at the restaurant chimed and he looked over to see Greg and Mycroft walking in together, Greg’s hand on the small of Mycroft’s back as he leaned in to say something in his ear that made Mycroft smile. </p><p>“They’re good together,” John mused, still a little surprised that this was true even though he'd seen them together and Greg had told him about the two of them. After the momentary distraction, he turned back to the other man, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take that tone with you. Nervousness is not an excuse for speaking to you that way.”</p><p>“I forgive you,” Sherlock murmured, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not always the model of kindness when I’m anxious either,” he quipped. </p><p>John snorted, “I love you,” he murmured, leaning in to press a warm kiss to Sherlock’s lips. </p><p>“Oy,” Greg shouted when he reached their table. “That’s enough of that.”</p><p>John flipped him a two fingered salute and kissed Sherlock for a moment longer because he felt like being contrary. </p><p>The other man smiled against his mouth and pulled back first, “Mycroft, Greg,” he greeted. “Thank you for joining us.” </p><p>“How could we say no and miss Chinese food?” Greg asked, pulling the chair out across from Sherlock and gesturing for Mycroft to sit. </p><p>Mycroft blushed, <em> he actually blushed, </em>as he said thank you to Greg and sat down. John thought that at any moment the sheer amount of love at the table was going to kill him. </p><p>“You two are such a good match,” John said sincerely. “I don’t know why I never saw it before.”</p><p>“Well, Mycroft can-” Sherlock started.</p><p>“Not today,” John said, glancing at Sherlock. </p><p>“Just teasing,” Sherlock said contritely. “Sorry, Mycroft.”</p><p>Mycroft looked a bit startled, “Is it my birthday? Have I forgotten what day it is?”</p><p>“No,” John said. “We just want to have a nice lunch together, that’s all. And we wanted to let the others joining us know we’re engaged.”</p><p>“So no spoiling,” Sherlock said. </p><p>Greg mimed zipping his lips. </p><p>The waiter came over, delivered waters and poured Mycroft and Greg tea before refilling John and Sherlock’s cups. “Still waiting for a few more?”</p><p>“Yes,” John replied with a smile. “We should have four more.” </p><p>The door opened with a ringing of the bell and all of them looked over to see Molly entering, very much alone, and very upset, but obviously trying to hide it. “Hello-” she started.</p><p>“He’s awful and he is not worth another moment of your time,” Sherlock pronounced.</p><p>“Umm-” she started again.</p><p>“No, I mean it Molly," he said firmly, "he is not fit to kiss the ground you walk on,” Sherlock continued. Then, “It was his boss, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Molly lost the battle of trying to hide that she wasn’t upset and burst into tears. </p><p>“Oh no,” John said, quickly standing up and pulling Molly into a hug. He didn’t really know what to say so he just hugged her until her breathing calmed a bit and she pulled back to take a napkin off the table and wipe her eyes. </p><p>“Sorry,” she said, “Sorry. I feel so stupid. I just found out this morning and I feel awful ruining this lovely couple date. I should just-”</p><p>“No,” Sherlock said, jumping to his feet and leading Molly to the chair next to his. “Don’t be ridiculous. You should stay. We want you here. Please. You're our friend, it doesn’t matter if you're here with someone or not.” He nodded and held her chair as she sat down. “You can be my date for lunch and we’ll let John be alone,” he added, taking the chair on the same side of the table as her and bringing his drinks over. </p><p>John nodded and was about to say something else when Harry entered the restaurant with a lovely, petite brunette in tow.</p><p>“Hi,” Harry said, her smile as big as John had ever seen it as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Sorry we’re late.” She gave Amelia’s hand a gentle tug and presented her to John, “This is Amelia,” she said, beaming. </p><p>“Hi,” John said, reaching out to shake her hand but finding himself pulled into a hug instead. He chuckled and hugged her back, “So nice to finally meet you,” he added. </p><p>Then he turned to the table, “This is Greg, he’s our friend and a Detective Inspector at the Met, so a work acquaintance as well. This is Mycroft, Sherlock’s brother. That is our good friend Molly; she’s one of Rosie’s godmothers. And that is my-” he broke off before spoiling everything, “Sherlock,” he finished. “Best friend, flat mate, etcetera.”</p><p>"Etcetera," Harry repeated with a little chuckle, "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"</p><p>Ignoring her cheek, he turned to Amelia and Harry, “Everyone, meet Harry, my sister and Amelia, her...” he trailed off awkwardly, “person,” he finished. </p><p>There were chuckles around the table and murmured hellos as the waiter came over again. “Still waiting for one more?” he asked.</p><p>“Ahh,” John replied awkwardly, none of this was making an auspicious start, “No. Nope. Just the seven of us.” </p><p>“Excellent!” the waiter replied cheerfully and John winced, trying very hard not to look over a Molly and make her feel self conscious. Maybe they shouldn’t tell everyone they were engaged today. It hardly seemed fair, and asking Molly to be in the wedding party on top of that seemed a bit like adding insult to injury or rubbing salt in the wound or some other unpleasant metaphor. </p><p>“What can I get you to drink while you look at the menu?” he asked.</p><p>Most of them decided on the water and tea but as he went to fetch a few drinks, Sherlock gave recommendations for each person, completely shocking Amelia when he told her what he thought she would like best.</p><p>“What?” she started, “How?” she shook her head. “That’s exactly what I was thinking I’d order.”</p><p>“He does that,” Greg and Molly said at the same time. </p><p>“They’re geniuses. Him and this one,” Greg added, nudging Mycroft with his shoulder. </p><p>“I tried to warn you about the deductions," Harry told Amelia.</p><p>“Yeah,” she said, “but there’s nothing for him to go on yet!” she added incredulously.</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Sherlock said with a gleeful little smile. </p><p>Unfortunately for Sherlock, the waiter came over then, and being at opposite ends of the table was not conducive to dazzling Amelia with deductions when the waiter was in the way. </p><p>By the time he’d left, it seemed that everyone had moved on (except for possibly Sherlock). </p><p>“I’ve never been here,” Greg said conversationally. “How did the two of you find it?” </p><p>“Oh, we’ve been coming here for years,” John said. “It’s pretty close to Baker Street and they stay open late so it’s a good place to stop after we’ve finished a case and he’s famished from starving himself through it.”</p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Actually the first time I brought John here was after our very first case together.”</p><p>“Ooh!” Amelia chimed in, “The Pink Lady? I loved that one.”</p><p>Groaning, Sherlock looked at John, “You give cases the worst names.”</p><p>“They’re catchy,” John replied, with a cheeky grin. </p><p>“Anyway,” Sherlock said, “This is where we came afterward.”</p><p>“And,” John said, “you didn’t deduce a single fortune cookie correctly.”</p><p>Sherlock laughed and shook his head, “I could try again today, if you like,” he replied, eyes sparkling with mischief. </p><p>“Wait a minute,” Greg said, “Weren’t the two of you just getting back from dinner when you got back to Baker Street for the drugs bust?”</p><p>“Yes, but I hadn’t eaten-”</p><p>“Because he starves himself during cases,” John added.</p><p>He narrowed his eyes at John and continued, “Because I was <em>focused</em> on the case,” he corrected.</p><p>“Yes, and I was hungry because I hadn’t finished before he was running off to catch a murderer.”</p><p>“That’s bad form, you know,” Harry replied with a smirk, “Not letting your partner finish before running off.” </p><p>The table erupted into laughter, even Molly let out a reluctant little giggle.</p><p>The ice, if it had ever been there, seemed to be broken and lunch was actually quite pleasant, the food and company was good and John almost forgot to be nervous. </p><p>When they were about halfway through, Harry cleared her throat and said, “So we’ve got some news.”</p><p>“Oh?” Mycroft asked politely. </p><p>“We’re engaged!” Amelia exclaimed as though she just couldn’t hold it in any longer, holding up her hand and showing off the ring.</p><p>Sherlock started to say, “We are-”</p><p>“So excited for you!” John finished for him, giving him a meaningful look.</p><p>“Oh, that’s so nice,” Molly said, very obviously fighting back tears once again. “Congratulations! We should get some champagne!”  </p><p>John winced at this and cursed this stupid idea to have wedding party proposals, even as Harry and Amelia politely said, “We don’t drink,” at the same time.</p><p>“Oh, I’m so sorry-” Molly started. </p><p>“They have sparkling grape juice!” Greg inserted, obviously trying to help.</p><p>“Yes,” Sherlock affirmed, catching the waiter as he was walking past. “Could we have some sparkling grape juice for the table?”</p><p>“You want it now?” the waiter asked. </p><p>He wondered if he could just crawl under the table and pretend this day wasn’t happening.</p><p>“Sherlock,” he said, sliding his chair back with a screech against the floor and grimacing. “Don’t you need to use the restroom?” </p><p>Sherlock looked at him like he’d grown an extra head, “Why yes, John,” he said after a moment, obviously seeing the desperation in his eyes. “That was an excellent deduction.” He smiled at everyone around the table, “He’s been practicing.”</p><p>“Yes,” John affirmed, walking over and grabbing his arm. “I’ll join you.”</p><p>Once they got into the loo he locked the door behind them and said, “We cannot tell them today.”</p><p>“But John,” he whined, “we’ve already planned the whole thing.”</p><p>“Yes, but Molly’s a mess,” he said, “And Harry and Clara-”</p><p>“Amelia,” Sherlock corrected.</p><p>“Fuck me,” John cursed, banging his head against the door. He took a deep breath, “This doesn’t really seem like the right time, does it?”</p><p>Sherlock was quiet for a second, just standing with John and silently offering support, trying to understand what he was going through. John appreciated it even though he imagined he probably couldn't understand why John was feeling liked this.</p><p>“Tell me,” Sherlock said softly, his fingers trailing down John’s spine.</p><p>He took a fortifying breath and let the words, and the shame they inevitably brought, rush out. “I always did this to her, okay?” he said. “I was so...” he trailed off, looking for the right word, <em> “desperate </em>for love and approval when I was a kid. Sometimes it was on purpose and sometimes it was an accident but it happened all of the time. Harry would come home with a B- on an English paper and I would casually mention the fact that I received top marks in biology. Harry got cast in a small role in the school play and I got promoted to Captain of the Rugby team. Harry decided she was going to Law School and I told everyone I was going to be a bloody doctor. Harry got engaged and I enlisted as an Army Medic.” He exhaled, “Fuck.”</p><p>“Okay,” Sherlock said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around John’s waist and tucked his nose into John’s neck and John tried to consciously sync up his breathing to Sherlock's as they stood pressed together. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he said, “We’ll go out and we’ll tell the waiter not to bring out the fortune cookies with the proposals in them, we'll ask him to just give us regular cookies, yes? We’ll finish lunch and we’ll toast Harry and Amelia. Then we’ll go home and plan a different way to ask them.”</p><p>“You’re not mad?” John asked, not wanting to see Sherlock’s face. Then, “Are you disappointed?” he asked, because honestly that was worse.</p><p>“John,” Sherlock said, turning him around to face him and tilting his chin up. “I get to marry you. That is all that matters. Unless you tell me we aren’t getting married, nothing can disappoint me.”</p><p>“I love you,” John said, cupping Sherlock’s cheek. </p><p>“Me, too,” he replied, then cocked his head, brow furrowing slightly, “I love you, too, that is. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”</p><p>John laughed, “I know,” he said, kissing him softly. </p><p>“Right,” Sherlock said after a moment, “we should go before they start to wonder what we are up to.”</p><p>“Good thinking,” John nodded as he unlocked the door.</p><p>“You go lead a toast to your sister and I will go talk to the waiter,” Sherlock said as they went out toward the dining room.</p><p>John nodded, feeling much better. </p><p>Unfortunately, that feeling only lasted a few seconds until they walked into the dining room and saw everyone holding a fortune in their hands, cookies lying on the table broken and forgotten about. “Damn.”</p><p>At his muttered curse word, every face at the table turned to them and John was not prepared for the flurry of movement around them. He wasn’t prepared for everyone hugging them and telling them how excited they were and what an honor it was to be asked. He wasn’t prepared for Molly’s happy tears or Harry’s murmured, “fucking finally.” He wasn’t prepared for the way that Mycroft hugged Sherlock (something he could never have imagined) as he fervently promised to do his best. He wasn’t prepared for Greg clapping him on the back and telling him he was absolutely chuffed to have been asked and he damn well better be invited to the stag night this time. </p><p>He wasn’t prepared to feel this much love and happiness radiating out of other people about his engagement. He couldn’t remember feeling this the last time he’d gotten engaged. </p><p>When they all composed themselves and sat back down, Harry frowned and leaned over to say to him, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that you’d planned lunch to tell us. I wouldn’t have-”</p><p>“No, I’m sorry,” John said, grasping her hand, “Sherlock and I, we were going to wait, honestly. I don’t know how the cookies got out here.”</p><p>“The waiter got confused when Sherlock asked for the sparkling grape juice,” Amelia chimed in.</p><p>That made sense, John thought. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to steal your thunder,” he said. Then he added, “This time.”</p><p>With a genuine laugh Harry replied, “I went to therapy about that so let me tell you a secret I learned there; you were not the reason that I never felt like I was good enough. You were just a convenient excuse.”</p><p>“I love you,” John said, leaning across the corner of the table. “And I am sorry I was such an arse.”</p><p>“More than forgiven,” she replied. “On one condition,” Harry teased.</p><p>“What?” John asked as he pulled back and gave her a little smile. </p><p>“That you agree to also be my best man.”</p><p>“Done,” he said with a grin, heart so full he thought it might burst. </p><p>And somehow, John thought, even though not a single thing had gone the way it was supposed to, everything had turned out perfectly right.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>P.S. This website: www.magnetstreet.com/wedding-planning-checklist is what I used to help me outline this fic and to help me know how far out each "task" should be from the wedding date. It was super helpful and I will be using it to help shape the direction of each chapter. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Help from the Internet (And Rosie)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello lovelies! Thank you for all of your kind words and for the kudos left on this fic! They make me super happy. :)</p><p>Here's the next chapter. It's pretty long- I debated splitting it into two but this is already a bonus 12 months out chapter and I just don't want this to spiral out of control.</p><p>Possible tw: John and Sherlock talk about their childhoods, nothing traumatic is discussed in any real detail but it references parents who are homophobic (John's obviously), a bit of internalized homophobia (John) that he's worked through, and references bullying and feeling isolated (Sherlock). </p><p>I've updated the tags to add that this is not at all compliant with TFP, I should have said so sooner but I forgot because I'd tagged the last work with that. Anyway, I'm not getting into TFP and I'm not really going to get into TLD- John in TLD episodes seems out of character to me, Eurus is an added layer of crazy that I do not need in this fic, so we're just not dealing with that. (haha) There's nothing contradictory to TLD but a lot that is contradictory to TFP, just so you know. </p><p>Enjoy! Links are at the end to some of the things I used to help with crafting this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sherlock felt at war with himself almost constantly about this wedding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of him wanted to push John about every single detail, to make him care about everything that Sherlock cared about, to force him to give his opinion. This was his wedding, too, damn it and Sherlock wanted John to enjoy it. He wanted him to be able to look back on this wedding with fondness, to remember it being the most perfect day of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the other part of him recognized that the desire to make John weigh in about everything was completely irrational. John was trying, he really was. He listened to what Sherlock had to say and he tried to offer his opinions and thoughts but half the time he was saying things contradicting what he’d told Sherlock mere hours or days before. And Sherlock knew, even if John was trying very hard to hide it, that John didn’t really care about half of the things he was giving an opinion on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was how Sherlock found himself being driven to desperate measures one afternoon when John was sitting on the couch, reading a book about unique barnyard animals with Rosie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rosie,” Sherlock said when John had paused to flip the page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” she asked, looking up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I switch places with your daddy for a minute so he can take this wedding quiz?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” she said with a smile, sliding off of John’s lap and patting the couch to get Sherlock to sit down next to John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wedding quiz?” John asked, obviously holding back a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s ten questions, very low stake. You’ve got this,” Sherlock said, handing the laptop over to him and lifting Rosie onto his lap. “Seriously, John, don’t overthink it, just answer the questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Buzzfeed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s what Sherlock had come to. Bloody Buzzfeed. Just to trick John’s brain into telling them what sort of wedding he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John took the computer with a sigh, “Sher-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush,” Sherlock said, cutting him off, “We’re reading. You’re taking a quiz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock started reading, pointing out an inaccuracy about the cow in question and making Rosie laugh and John started clicking on answers grumbling under his breath. “Sherlock,” John interrupted, “Neither of us is even wearing a wedding dress. How am I supposed to pick one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just,” Sherlock stopped himself and took a deep breath, snapping wasn’t going to help. “Don’t overthink it. Just pick the option that seems best. It’s just about understanding your aesthetic, not about what we’ll actually be having.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aesthetic,” John repeated. “Right. Okay.” And he started clicking again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John seemed to finish a few minutes before Sherlock and Rosie were done with the story but he didn’t interrupt them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’d finished the book Rosie said, “Tell us daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Errm, Backyard Wedding,” he said, offering the computer to Sherlock to look at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock stared at the computer screen uncomprehendingly. “Backyard Wedding,” he repeated dazedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was your’s?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Traditional Elegance,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John bit his lip, “Those don’t seem too similar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sherlock replied. “But it’s fine,” he said, taking the computer, “If a Backyard Wedding is what you want, we’ll just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” John interrupted. “Honestly, Sherlock I’d be happy with a traditional, elegant wedding. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say on the test. I probably messed something up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock read the description the quiz provided, <em>“‘</em></span>
  <span><em>Your perfect wedding is a wedding that requires minimum faff on your part, and is more about celebrating with family and friends than yielding cool photographs! Although a backyard wedding is not always the most unique, it's the closest you'll get to a hassle-free option!’”</em> He sighed, “That sounds right, though, doesn’t it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” John said. “Listen, I am really doing my best here. I will do whatever you want, that’s all this is saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me try,” Rosie interrupted, reaching out for the computer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the hell, Sherlock thought to himself. What was there to lose at this point? He helped Rosie balance the computer and started reading the questions to her. “‘You’re engaged! Congratulations! What kind of ring do you have?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an easy one,” Rosie said. “Memere said it’s a one of a kind ring for a one of a kind love,” she quoted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock clicked, ‘it’s unique. I’ve never seen another ring like it!’ and it pushed him on to the next question. “What are you most excited for in the planning process?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie hummed, “Planning all of the people,” she said. “So everyone can see love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John chuckled, “and to think I picked the food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I picked planning all the details,” Sherlock replied ruefully as he clicked on ‘planning the guest list.’ “What’s your dream wedding dress?” he read.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie seemed to give this some serious thought, looking at the pictures they’d provided as examples for each one, “This one seems the most like you, Sherlock,” she said, pointing to the elegant lace, form fitting wedding dress, which was in fact the one that Sherlock had chosen. “But this one,” she said, pointing at a poofy, fairytale sort of dress with a skirt a mile wide, “looks more like daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is an interesting choice,” John said, obviously curious about why she’d chosen that dress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowned, “You tell stories,” she said disapprovingly, as though that much should have been obvious. “Princesses and dragons,” she elaborated, “knights and princes, happy endings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a romantic,” Sherlock said softly, smiling at John, heart expanding a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” she said, “I think you should go with this one,” she said, pointing to a traditional lace gown with buttons down the back; it had a fuller skirt than the one she’d picked for Sherlock but definitely a more conventional, chique look than John’s fairytale dress. “It’s both combined,” she said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock clicked on the one she was pointing at and then read the next question, “Who is the first group of people you think to invite?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Molly, nana Hudson, Greg, Mycroft, memere and pepere, Auntie Harry,” Rosie ticked off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Sherlock said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “'close friends,' it is.” The next page pulled up and he read, “You get one splurge for your wedding, what do you choose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honeymoon,” John replied before Rosie said anything and Sherlock felt himself blush at the prospect, which was ridiculous but here we are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s splurge?” Rosie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s something that you spend extra money on, in this context.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The cake?” Rosie suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed, “That’s a good thought Rosie, but it’s not one of the choices. Why don’t we go with daddy’s answer?” He clicked it before she could ask any other questions that Sherlock didn’t particularly want to answer. “On your wedding day, who will be there helping you get ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be together, obviously,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re joking, right?” Sherlock asked incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” John said, “No, I'm not joking. Sherlock we’re not superstitious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock shook his head, “I am not seeing you on our wedding day until I walk down that aisle. Why would we tempt fate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s silly and it’s not real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Did you see Mary before your wedding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, but that’s diff-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, “It’s not different. I’m taking no chances.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man sighed, holding up his hands in surrender, “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Molly should help me get ready,” Rosie said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, “Friends it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next page asked, ‘When do you think you’re most likely to cry?’ and before he could even ask, John spoke up, “The vows,” he said. “No question about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Sorry, Rosie, daddy and I agree on this one,” he said, clicking the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay,” she replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next question was about what drink they’d be enjoying first as a married couple and once again before Sherlock could even ask, John spoke up, “Champagne,” he said. “Definitely. If there has ever been anything worth celebrating it’s this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s heart turned into a puddle and he leaned over to kiss the other man briefly while balancing Rosie and the laptop. Once he pulled back he clicked the champagne. “Okay,” he said when the next page opened, “What are we having for dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chicken and mashed potatoes,” Rosie said without hesitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oddly specific,” Sherlock replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But effective,” John replied, “Probably ‘something simple and tasty that everyone can enjoy’ is closest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re right,” which was too bad because Sherlock had thought a multi-course meal would have been lovely. “Which did you pick?” he asked John as he selected Rosie’s answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That one,” he affirmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well it could have been worse, Sherlock thought, at least he hadn’t picked a barbecue or food trucks. “And lastly, where are you at one in the morning on your wedding night?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One in the morning?” Rosie asked incredulously. “In bed. Sleeping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was my answer as well,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine too,” he said, although he was not imagining that they’d be sleeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Sherlock said, clicking on the answer, “Time for the results.” They waited with baited breath as the computer finished ‘calculating the results’. After a moment the result popped up, “A Country House Wedding,” Sherlock read. He continued to the description, “</span>
  <span>Your perfect wedding is a fun but extravagant house party (or garden party if the weather holds up!) for your nearest and dearest, in a luxurious country manor. Bursting with charming detail, this kind of celebration usually rolls on for two or three days, and the idyllic country surroundings will make the whole thing feel like a glorious dream!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all sat there, absorbing the description for a moment, Rosie broke the silence first, “Cool,” she said, as though it all meant nothing to her, and in fairness, Sherlock thought, it probably didn't. “Can I go play now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course,” John said and Sherlock lifted the computer to let her jump down and go up to her room to fetch whatever she was in the mood for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were both silent after that, John seemed to be waiting for Sherlock to say something first, so he said tentatively, “This could work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” John asked hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, “My family owns a manor in France, my father inherited it from my grandmere,” he added. “It’s massive. Fifteen bedrooms, if I recall, five full and three half baths. I think there’s even a little chapel somewhere on the property-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, sorry,” John interrupted. “Did you say </span>
  <em>
    <span>fifteen?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he asked incredulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John gaped at him, “Suddenly what you wear on crime scenes makes much more sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't get me wrong," he said quickly. "I love your clothes, they always look so nice. Your trousers and the way they fit your-” John cleared his throat and glanced toward the stairs, "Well never mind about that. The point is that you wear dress clothes to go traipsing through moors, diving in garbage skips, kneeling on bloody pavement,” he elaborated. “It just makes sense now, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock decided to focus on the part about his arse and moved on, “We can ask mummy when we can go and take a look to see if it would suit for the wedding. It will probably need a couple of days so the caretaker can get everything freshened up for our arrival.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Caretaker,” John repeated under his breath, shaking his head disbelievingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, honestly. The manor is huge, the upkeep is literally a full time job, multiple full time jobs when it’s in use.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” John said, nodding, “I’m just not sure why I’ve been working at the clinic all this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s jaw dropped, “John </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hamish</span>
  </em>
  <span> Watson. Are you kidding me?” he spluttered. “I have literally spent years trying to get you to quit. I believe my exact words when you said you needed to get a job were ‘Oh, dull.’ That should have settled the matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, but you’d told me only weeks before that we could split the cost of the flat and between the two of us we ought to be able to afford it,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what was I supposed to say? I’m a sad and lonely man and I don’t want to live alone anymore? And there you were, sexy army-doctor with a psychosomatic limp that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> I could cure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought I was sexy?” John asked, smirking a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Focus,” Sherlock replied, “I’m just saying that I knew that I could give you what you were craving; purpose, the thrill of the chase, the feeling of camaraderie.” He shrugged, “And you liked the deductions, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> being seen. If I had said, 'come and live with me for free because I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>very much </span>
  </em>
  <span>like to get to know you,' you would never have gone for it. Your pride never would have allowed it. I thought that once we started solving crimes together you'd see yourself as a partner in the work and thought the money we earned was enough to cover the rent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, “Depends on the month. Honestly it depends on how many cases we do for the Met and how much of our time they take up. The point, though, is that it doesn’t matter. It never has. I had already paid Mrs. Hudson for the flat for the next twenty years at that point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was really stressed about that, you know,” John said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sherlock replied. “There was no good way around it, unfortunately. I really did try.” He shook his head, “Anyway. Back to wedding planning. Let’s go Friday morning to look at it and see if you like it, then we can spend the night and head back on Saturday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you own a manor in France,” John said, leaning over and snuggling in next to Sherlock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he said, wrapping an arm around John, “technically my parents own it. And that property is set for Mycroft to inherit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Do you get their cozy little house, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s Mycroft’s too,” Sherlock replied, “I get the cottage in Sussex and the secluded waterfront villa in the south of France.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What it must be like to be rich,” John commented dryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, get ready because you are about to become rich, too,” he replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we have a prenup?” John wondered aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t feel offended. Don’t feel offended. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Why would you even ask that?” That definitely came out sounding offended. Oops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to think I’m,” John broke off, apparently not sure how to finish his sentence, “I don’t know. Only marrying you for your money?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t even know about the money until just now,” Sherlock said in exasperation. “Why would I ever think that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Maybe your parents-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “The same people who think you are the best human to ever live? They wouldn’t think that. You’re being stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John took a slow breath and then exhaled, “Okay,” he said, voice calm and measured and Sherlock wondered what line he'd crossed. “We seem to have stumbled on a sore spot for both of us. Let’s take a second, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock allowed his own body to focus on taking a slow breath and bringing his heart rate down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” John said again, turning so that he was sitting facing Sherlock on the sofa. “I'm not good at this, the communicating bit and I never have been, but maybe if we just start small I could be better. Could you tell me what bothered you about what I said?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought for a moment, “Everything I have is already yours,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock, that’s a nice thought-” John started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, shaking his head, “You don’t understand. Legally, everything that I own is yours if I die. I made Mycroft do my will before we went after Magnussen, in the event of my death everything should go to you. Everything that I have is already yours," he repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stared at him, “And you didn’t think we should have ever talked about that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it seemed awkward at the time,” Sherlock said in his defense. “Normally that’s the sort of thing that couples do but you were married to someone else. And by the time you would have come to know about it I would be dead, so the conversation seemed mute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood up and started to pace, his body all but vibrating with pent up emotions and Sherlock found himself going very still. “That’s something you tell people, Sherlock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want you to have to worry,” he said. “I wanted you to be able to live whatever kind of life you wanted. And after Rosie was born I wanted her to have everything she could ever want or need. It was the best I could do in lieu of being here myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop planning your life like your death is inevitable!” John all but shouted at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But death is inevitable,” he said, his nose scrunching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I mean.” He paused to take a deep breath and Sherlock had a flash of what every therapy session John had ever gone to must have been like. “When you talk about dying like that it makes me panic,” he finally managed. “When you talk about leaving suddenly, about leaving me to live some life without you, or to raise Rosie without you, it makes me feel like I can’t breathe properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” Sherlock said softly, rising to his feet and making his way over. Slowly he reached out and clasped John’s arms, giving him time to step away if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this alone. And I can’t lose you again, Sherlock. Seriously. I am going to need to die first at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock tipped forward and pressed his forehead against John’s. “I can’t promise that you will get to die first, but I can promise that I don’t imagine dying young the way I used to. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” John said with a little huff. “I suppose that’s the best either of us can hope for at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock took a breath, “Okay, what was the sore spot for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John drew back and rubbed a hand over his neck, in that slightly self-conscious gesture that Sherlock somehow loved. “It’s stupid but sometimes it feels like I don’t know you. Like I know who you are at your core and that I love you, but I don’t know anything about your childhood. I don’t know anything about the things that have shaped you and molded you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know everything about you either,” Sherlock offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, but you’ve deduced a lot more about me than I have about you,” John countered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought for a moment, he really didn’t like talking about his childhood or even thinking about it for that matter; he’d shoved so many things into a tiny dark closet in his mind palace that he ignored as much as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this was John, his John, and there wasn’t anything that Sherlock wouldn’t do for him. “Let’s have date night tonight,” he suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” John agreed, obviously not quite understanding how this was related to their original conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can have some dinner and some wine, then by the time we get home, Mrs. Hudson will have put Rosie in bed and we can sit in the living room and...” he trailed off, searching a bit for the right word and coming up empty. “Talk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” John asked, voice soft and vaguely hopeful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock replied. Then, with a smile at a memory that had once felt very bittersweet, he added, “We can play twenty questions or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>----------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they were at dinner, Sherlock found a list on the internet, “Look,” he said, leaning over to show John his mobile screen, “It’s a list of 200 questions to ask your significant other.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John hummed around the sip of wine he’d been taking and scrolled through the list, “This looks good,” he said. Then he looked at Sherlock, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sherlock replied but honestly, but the more he'd thought about it he knew there wasn’t really anything that he didn’t want John to know about him. “Here, let’s start with this one,” Sherlock offered as they waited for their food to come out, “Who is the most irritating person you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is an easy one,” John replied without hesitation, “There is a bloke on the rugby team that I do in the autumn, Chad, and he is the absolute worst person. He says things just to get a rise out of other people and he’s always going on about the last woman he slept with.” John made a face of disgust, “He’s a pig.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t talk about the women you sleep with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I might say something like, ‘Oh, Lisa was a nice girl. We had a great time on our date last night,' but nothing untoward. Nothing that any of my partners would have felt uncomfortable with me sharing. It’s a consent issue, in my opinion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded, that made sense to him. “A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed, “Something like that. What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. That’s a hard one, it changes depending on the case. I get really irritated by incompetence in general but especially by people who don’t realize how incompetent they are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d never noticed that,” John remarked dryly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock laughed, “Alright, how about this one: What is your favorite thing in our house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thing?” John asked, “Like not a person, an object?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t specify but that seems correct.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s brow furrowed as he thought, “You go first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The couch,” Sherlock said. “It’s perfect for napping on, perfect for thinking and problem solving, perfect for snuggling,” he added, cheeks flushing a bit and John leaned their knees together under the table. “And its armrests aren’t too high to serve as pillows,” he finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d go with our kettle, I think. Tea is important, too, obviously, but I think that sometimes when I’m having a conversation I’d rather not be or trying to process emotions I’d rather not be, it gives me something to do with my hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good answer,” Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” John replied with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angelo interrupted their next question by bringing over their food, “Tortellini Carbonara for you,” he said, setting the steaming bowl in front of Sherlock, “and the Chicken Marsala for you,” he said, setting the plate in front of John. “And I will fetch you more bread for the table,” he added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sherlock said with a smile, “This looks amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” John added, rolling up his sleeves, “I think you’ve outdone yourself this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too kind,” Angelo said, “The both of you.” He turned before Sherlock or John could say more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder if he’d cater our rehearsal dinner?” John asked as he stabbed a mushroom from the plate in front of him and popped it into his mouth with a happy little groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” Sherlock said, “That’s a good idea. We’ll ask before we leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the next one?” John asked, nodding toward Sherlock’s phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Umm,” he said, picking up his phone and scrolling, “Let’s see. How about, what small pleasure do you enjoy most?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John blushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock laughed, “Now you have to tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” John said, “nope. Definitely not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Sherlock wheedled gleefully, “You know your secrets are safe with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I'm still not saying it out loud in public.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock scooted over so he was beside John and leaned in for him to whisper it in his ear, “Come on,” he encouraged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John leaned close and the hair on the back of Sherlock’s next stood up as he exhaled before whispering, “A long, leisurely wank that a certain four-year-old won’t interrupt.” Sherlock grinned and was about to pull away when John caught the sleeve of his shirt and held him in place as he added, “I would also add to that sex with you, perhaps that's not a small pleasure," he murmured. Then he asked, "Should I count the ways?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that Sherlock found his own cheeks and neck heating as he pulled away. John was smirking at him, so Sherlock had no doubt that he’d known exactly the impact of his words before he said them.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you going to say to that question, then?” John asked innocently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A perfectly made cup of tea,” he said after clearing his throat and finding his voice once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of John’s mouth ticked up, “Ah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about this one,” Sherlock said, “What makes you lose faith in humanity when you think about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh gosh,” John said, cutting into his chicken and taking a moment to think about it. “Do I just have to pick one thing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock laughed, “There aren’t really rules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let’s go,” John said. “People who can’t return their trolleys at the store. The fact that 26 of the wealthiest people in the world make more than 3.8 billion people combined and that the top 10 of those people have more wealth than half the world combined. The fact that there are homeless people, people dying from diseases that we have vaccines for, that people put politics ahead of what it right and just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe a better question is what is something that restores your faith in humanity,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm,” John said as he took another bite of chicken, “How on new year’s day you scroll through your feed on social media and for one day, no matter how crappy the year before had been, everyone’s posts are filled with things they were thankful for in the past year and their hopes for what’s to come. I think it’s a beautiful testament to the human spirit that we were created for such hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was unexpected,” Sherlock commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock replied. “I thought you’d say Rosie. She, more than anything else, restores my faith in humanity; that perhaps we’re raising up a generation better than our own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awe,” John said, tipping his head and reaching out to hold Sherlock’s hand across the table. “That’s sweet, you’re making me feel like a rubbish dad,” he said with a little laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s nice that you can find something that can restore your faith in humanity from the general public,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” John said, “Let me look at the questions, you’ve hardly touched your pasta.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock handed his phone over and dug in while John scrolled through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, here’s a good one,” John said, “What untrue thing did you believe for an incredibly long time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That Santa Claus was real,” Sherlock answered without hesitation. “I was 11 when one of my teachers said to the class, ‘by now you know that Santa isn’t real’ and I can’t for the life of me remember what point he was even trying to make. I was absolutely shattered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” John said, giving him that sad little face that made something inside of Sherlock feel warm and pleased. “Poor thing. That must have been sad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock replied. “But I managed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always believed that goldfish had a short memory span, three seconds was what I was taught, I think, but they don’t. They can actually be taught to do tricks and scientists believe they can remember things for up to five months, possibly even longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that true?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John replied, with a shrug. “You can look it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait to text Mycroft,” Sherlock replied, feeling absolutely giddy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued with light, easy questions through dinner and dessert, finishing off a bottle of wine while they were at it. Angelo enthusiastically agreed to catering their rehearsal dinner and brought them a bottle of champagne to take home with them because of the happy news. He’d insisted they come back in the next few weeks for a full tasting menu. And honestly, who would say no to that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m stuffed,” John pronounced when they’d finished their tiramisu. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” Sherlock replied, “Ready to go home?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John said, giving Sherlock a lopsided smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asked as he stood up and donned his coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged and slipped his fingers through Sherlock’s as they headed through the door and onto the street. “It still gets me sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does?” Sherlock asked, giving John’s hand a little squeeze as they started to wander in search of a cab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That we live together, that I get to call 221B home again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bumped his shoulder against John’s, thinking that it still surprised him sometimes, too. Then he decided to say it, if John was going to get better at communicating so was he. “It still gets me, too,” he replied, his words coming out a touch shy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” John asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded, “Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looped his arm through Sherlock’s, pulling him closer. “Can we drink this champagne when we get home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we celebrating?” Sherlock asked as he stuck his arm out and hailed a cab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man shrugged and said, “Being alive, being together, being engaged.” He climbed in behind Sherlock, “take your pick.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Sherlock said, then to the cabbie, “221B Baker Street.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” John replied, snuggling in closer to Sherlock on the bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride home was short and pleasant, and when they got upstairs, Mrs. Hudson was snoozing in Sherlock’s arm chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to walk her down to her flat,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. I’m going to pour us champagne and then get my pajamas on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded and gently woke Mrs. Hudson, “Hello,” he said. “We’re back. How was Rosie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello dear,” she said, “Must have dozed off there for a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright,” Sherlock said, “Let me walk you down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not necessary-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to just the same,” he replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded and took his arm as they made their way downstairs, “Did you two have fun?” she asked. “You get so little time, just the two of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We had a lovely evening,” Sherlock replied, thinking that was true, it has been lovely. “Thank you. How was Rosie?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good as gold. We two get on very well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed, he couldn't say he was surprised, Rosie adored her almost as much as she adored Rosie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be leaving her with me for the honeymoon, I imagine?” she asked as they arrived at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly we haven’t gotten that far in planning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Hudson nodded, “Well, it’s important for a marriage to start out with a good honeymoon, dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed, “I’ll talk with John.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” she said, and he leaned down so she could press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sherlock replied, even though he didn’t entirely understand why she was proud of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They bid one another good night and Sherlock headed upstairs and into the bedroom where John was in bed, propped up on pillows while he read some trash detective novel, his reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked up when Sherlock came in, peering at him over the top of his glasses as he folded over the edge of the page he was on and set the book aside, “Hey, you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Sherlock replied, climbing onto the bed and collapsing on John without taking off his clothes or his shoes, and without so much as a word of warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” John murmured again, soft and fond, his fingers delving into Sherlock’s curls, blunt nails scratching lightly at Sherlock’s scalp. “Alright?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded against John’s stomach, wrapping his arms around his waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he replied, tipping his chin up to look at John, “I just like you here, sitting in my bed like it’s always been ours, reading your silly crime novels with your secret reading glasses.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not secret,” John said, chuckling as he brushed Sherlock’s curls back from his forehead in a gesture so tender that Sherlock’s insides turned into goo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed and let his eyes drift closed as John’s thumb brushed over his temple and swept across his forehead. “I like being here, too,” he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never thought,” Sherlock started and something cracked inside of him. Suddenly he felt very vulnerable, very exposed, and very small. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, John said, “One of those questions it asked was what was the worst memory you have,” he murmured, bravely soldiering through. “When I was fifteen, Harry officially came out to our parents and,” Sherlock felt John take a shuddering breath, “It was honestly horrible. And I just told myself, watching that, that I wasn’t gay. Couldn’t be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock cuddled closer and John’s fingertips slipped down the back of Sherlock’s neck, trailing lightly over his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that memory was soul crushing for so long, it shaped my unconscious and conscious decisions for a long time about whether I would date someone or just sleep with them.” He sighed, “Men were fine as long as they were a fling, I wouldn’t let them get too close, I couldn’t let them get too close. Somehow that spilled over into everything, with everyone. There's always a point that people get to that they feel like I just won't open up past. And I know it was about more than that one moment, I have deep rooted trust issues even without adding those barriers, but it broke something inside of me that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to heal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock didn’t know what to say, what could he say in light of a confession like this? But this is what they’d wanted, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then there was James,” Sherlock could hear the way his voice caught. “I would have tried, for him, maybe. But it wasn’t the right time. And he was just as emotionally stunted as I was and we never talked, not about that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you love him?” Sherlock asked softly, not out of a place of jealousy or worry, just curiosity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John said, “I think so.” He exhaled then said, “I wouldn’t have been able to say so at the time. Maybe if he’d said it first. But,” he paused and Sherlock knew how much this confession was taking out of him, how hard it was for John to say these words. “I don’t know, the timing wasn’t right,” he said again. “I was heartbroken when I came back for a variety of reasons,” John said, “but James was definitely one of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” John replied easily. “Because then there was you. And you were more important than anything else. Than any accusations about being gay, than any stupid memories. Loving you was like breathing from that first night. And suddenly, what I never thought could happen was happening. I feel like I have been on a date with you for every poor bloke I wouldn’t date at Uni but took to bed,” he said with a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With a lot of blokes at Uni, were you?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” John replied. “The point is, I never thought I’d be here either,” he finished softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“School was,” Sherlock started, “not pleasant. You’ve heard the kinds of things that ‘professionals’ will say to me while they are working, I’m sure you can imagine what teenagers might come up with. And I daresay they were a bit more imaginative.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John listened, his fingers twirling through the hair at the base of Sherlock’s neck, twisting the curls round his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Victor moved to our school in year 9 and I actually made friends with his dog first,” Sherlock said with a chuckle. “He was a good friend to me,” he said. “And that was more than enough until we got to 6th form. I’m,” he swallowed before he pushed himself to continue, “I’m demisexual which means that I don’t experience sexual attraction unless I have a strong emotional connection to someone. And I’d never experienced the sort of typical teenage fog of desire until then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That must have been disconcerting,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock said, “but he was always dating girls so I didn’t think he could feel the same.” After a beat he continued, “But I thought that maybe it would be better once I got to Uni. I’d imagined there would be loads of other smart kids, I’d make friends, fall in love, and Victor could be my best man at my wedding; it was all going to work out perfectly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it didn’t,” John murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sebastian was actually one of the better ones,” he said, knowing that John was remembering that meeting so long ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to grind his face into the wall,” John grumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled, “I remember, between that and getting in a fight with the chip and pin machine,” he laughed, “I was halfway in love with you then, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only halfway?” John teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe a little more,” he said, pressing a kiss to John’s stomach. “You were so grumpy then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John groaned, “I know. That ptsd and depression combo was not doing me any favors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were cute, all prickly and unsure, and you wanted me to like you which was completely foreign and entirely thrillig. Mrs. Hudson said I was besotted, she told me my face when I watched you was a complete give away to anyone with eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed, “Maybe I needed glasses then, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After my first year of Uni, I just sort of gave up on people liking me. I built up all of these walls on the outside and hoped for the best. You just sort of slipped in past them and lodged yourself inside of me. My mind palace was a mess. It took me years to get things tidy in there and I still have to regularly update because you don’t do what I think you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” John murmured, “I’m always a little worried you’ll get bored of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sat up at that, outraged, “I would never.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John leaned in and kissed him. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My point though,” Sherlock said, “Was that I never imagined that someone could love me the way you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” John replied softly, leaning forward to kiss him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, John pulled back and murmured, “Get your pajamas on and bring the champagne over.” Then he added, “We still have 178 questions to answer.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed it!</p><p>Here is the wedding quiz I used to help shape the one I wrote in. It's not actually a Buzzfeed quiz, but that seemed funnier: https://www.onefabday.com/quiz-style-of-wedding/</p><p>Here's the website that I pulled some couple questions from: https://conversationstartersworld.com/questions-for-couples/</p><p>Here's the statistics about the wealthiest people in the world (these stats are actually just over a year old and things have only gotten more disparate): https://www.businessinsider.com/worlds-richest-billionaires-net-worth-2017-6</p><p>There are like a thousand different people who will tell you a goldfishes memory is longer than we've been led to believe, but here is one of my favorite articles: https://puregoldfish.com/memory/</p><p>I used the exceptionally useful transcript by Ariane DeVere to find the exact quote from TBB for how Sherlock responded when John mentioned getting a job. Here's the link back to this transcript: https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/45111.html but they're all fantastic and so entertaining to read.</p><p>(No offense is intended to anyone named Chad haha!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Pictures of You (11 months Out)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone!</p><p>I'm sorry that I wasn't able to post two chapters last week. There was an unexpected death and funeral for me to attend to, and with all of the things going crazy in the US right now, it was harder to find the energy to work on this. </p><p>I don't think there are any trigger warnings for this chapter. Intercrural sex lies ahead- if you don't like reading sex scenes, when they finish talking about love languages you can just jump to the cut to finish out the chapter. :) </p><p>I hope that you enjoy! Thanks for the love you've left on this fic. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>John enjoyed being woken up slowly, sweetly. He liked it when Sherlock kissed him awake with soft murmurs. Even if this sort of wake up didn’t lead to anything other than a little cuddle before Rosie got up and took their attention elsewhere, it was John’s favorite way to start the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was not how Sherlock woke him up this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John!” the other man all but shouted, the bathroom door flying open and slamming into the bedroom wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he gasped as he sprang out of bed, immediately ready to spring into action. Then in the darkness he saw the stranger in their bedroom and lunged at him, tackling him to the bed and pinning his arms. “Sherlock!” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve got him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” the man under him asked, thoroughly confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked down only to realize that the man under him was in fact Sherlock, “What the bloody hell is on your face?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a face mask,” Sherlock replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I can see that,” John said, inspecting the green, hardening mask on his fiancee’s face more closely, it seemed like a reasonable mistake to make. And further in John’s defense, his hair was pulled back from his face with a silky looking head scarf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s to help minimize wrinkles and cleanse my pores,” Sherlock said with a sniff. Then, after a moment, he said, “Not that I’m complaining, but how long were you planning on pinning me here like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John released Sherlock’s hands and rolled off of him, “What time is it? Why is it still dark outside? Why were you shouting?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So many questions,” Sherlock replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, feel free to take them one at a time,” John said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s mobile started buzzing and he leaned over to grab it off the nightstand, “Hold that thought. Duty calls,” he said. “Lestrade,” he answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow furrowed as he listened, “No, we’re fine. Why-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He listened for a moment, “Ah,” he replied. “No. I startled John awake and he was not anticipating that I would be wearing a face mask and apparently didn’t recognize me.” Another pause, “Yes, we’ll head up to sort her out. Thanks for calling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that all about?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently we woke up Rosie and she used the emergency phone to ring Lestrade and let him know someone was attacking us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighed. “I’ll go see if I can settle her back down. What time is it?” he asked again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just gone half three,” Sherlock replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Half three?” John asked. “What is going on right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to go up?” Sherlock offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” John replied fervently, “You don’t look like you and I’m sure it would scare the daylights out of her.” He climbed out of bed and headed upstairs. Calming Rosie down enough to go back to sleep took half an hour and by the time John made it back down he was feeling tired and irritable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when he got into the bedroom, Sherlock was sitting on the bed, rubbing a cream into his face and neck, his normally straight posture curved and closed off a bit. He was feeling badly and John’s mood softened. Somehow, just seeing the other man sitting there made something lighten in his chest and the irritability seemed to vanish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face was clean and the scarf that had tied back his hair was gone and he just looked like Sherlock once more. “Ah, there you are,” John said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s lips before he sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I woke you,” Sherlock said, sounding contrite. “And I’m sorry I woke Rosie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll be fine,” he said as he sat down next to Sherlock and rubbed his hands over his face. “What on earth were you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My skin care routine,” Sherlock replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” John said, “I got that, but why at three in the morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sherlock said with a shrug, “That’s when I always do it. You’re asleep at that point, I’m usually awake, if I do it then I’m not missing any important sixty minute chunk of my day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you do your face care-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skin care,” Sherlock corrected. “I do hands, neck, and feet daily, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skin care,” John conceded, “Do you do it at three in the morning often?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this one’s a bit more rigorous than the one I used to do but needs must,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded, “It works perfectly. Then I’m in bed when you go to sleep, which you like, and I am back in bed by the time we wake up, which you also like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not,” he gestured vaguely, “I don’t know. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Exhausted </span>
  </em>
  <span>by that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no,” Sherlock replied. “I usually still get between 5-6 hours of sleep each night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing such an intense skin care routine?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s fingers lingered over the corners of his eyes for a moment and John could see where this was headed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” John said softly, moving to kneel in front of him, “You are stunning,” he said simply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” he started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, listen to me. You,” he said, bringing Sherlock’s knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss to them, “are so handsome, gorgeous, beautiful, ethereal," he trailed off for a moment, "pick your favorite adjective. You’re everything. I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” Sherlock said as though he couldn't imagine what that would have to do with anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you offended by the wrinkles on my forehead, or how puffy my eyes get when I’m tired, or-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it,” Sherlock interrupted, cupping John's cheek in his palm and brushing a thumb under the baggy eyelid in question. “I love your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I love your’s,” John said, pressing a kiss to the inside of Sherlock’s wrist, resting for a moment over his hammering pulse. “So if you are doing this for me, you don’t need to be. If you are doing this for our wedding, you don’t need to be." Then he added, because it seemed to be important, "If you are doing this for you because it’s something you enjoy, then you should do it. But your shorter skin care regiment seemed to be working marvelously.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he replied. “Definitely, yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’ll tone it back down a bit then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded, “If that’s what you want.” He pressed one more kiss to Sherlock’s knuckles, “Can we go back to sleep now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still have to do my feet,” Sherlock replied. “Then yes we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your feet, hmm?” John hummed, sitting on the floor where he’d been kneeling, “Here, hand me your moisturizer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do that,” Sherlock protested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I want to?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, Sherlock handed him the moisturizer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scooped out a bit and warmed it up in his hands before taking Sherlock’s left feet into his hands and slowly starting to massage and work in the cream. He pressed his thumbs into the bottom of Sherlock’s foot, rubbing concentric circles from his heel, through his arch, and then to the ball of his foot. Sherlock let out a little groan and his eyes drifted shut as John continued to rub his foot, slotting his fingers through his toes and gently twisting while he applied a light pressure to his arch, stretching his feet, before going back to working the bottom of his foot with his thumbs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock braced his hands on the bed behind him and leaned back slightly with another groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept rubbing his foot for a long moment, allowing the warm intimacy of silence to surround them; the quiet only punctuated by Sherlock’s sighs and soft moans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, after he’d worked all of the cream in and all of the knots and tension out, he lowered Sherlock’s foot to the floor. “You can lay back, if you want to,” he offered softly, as he scooped a bit more cream onto his hands and started to repeat the same process with his other foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock collapsed back onto the bed and John couldn’t help but smile as he started to work out the tension in his other foot, “relax your ankle,” he instructed softly, holding Sherlock’s heel in his palm. “I’ve got you,” he added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed to take a bit of effort on Sherlock’s part, but eventually he managed and John went through the same process he had on the other foot, slowly working out all of the tension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sat up when John released his foot so that he could rub at his calf, “Come here,” the other man said softly, tugging John toward him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came willingly, standing up between Sherlock’s legs and wrapping his arms around his shoulders when Sherlock leaned in and rested his head on John’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect this to be your love language,” Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry?” John asked, leaning back slightly to look down at Sherlock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Physical touch,” Sherlock said, “I expected it to be time,” he added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John frowned, “I’ve never given it much thought.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s hands slipped under the hem of John’s tshirt, sliding around his waist and skimming over his back. “Lay down,” Sherlock said as he pushed John’s shirt up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He helped Sherlock by pulling his shirt over his head and then he flopped over onto the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On your stomach,” Sherlock said, his voice soft and warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John did as he was told and after a moment, Sherlock straddled his hips and started to rub John’s back with lotioned hands. He hummed happily, “What’s yours?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed questioningly as his thumbs pressed into John’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he sighed. Then he continued, “Your love language?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock groaned, “It’s embarrassing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could it be embarrassing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. It just is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall I deduce it, then?” John asked. When Sherlock didn’t object, John continued, “What are the choices?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gift giving, quality time, acts of service, physical touch, or words of affirmation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the way Sherlock’s voice changed, just the slightest amount, when he said, ‘ words of affirmation’, John knew exactly which it was. And that made sense, didn’t it? The way Sherlock had decided from the first night that he liked John when he could hardly stand other people so often. Still, he went through the deduction process in the order Sherlock had listed the languages and used his best Sherlockian-skills. “Well, I don’t think it’s gift giving,” he said, “I would have known your birthday way sooner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True,” Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I don’t think it’s quality time. While you obviously enjoy spending time with me, you wouldn’t hesitate to take us to a crime scene if we were on a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That could still be constituted as quality time,” Sherlock argued. “But you’re right, it’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think, especially in the old days, that acts of service is one of the ways that you showed love,” John said, “but I don’t think it’s your favorite way to receive love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you like physical touch,” John said, groaning as Sherlock dug into a knot just under his shoulder blade. “But it’s not a way that you communicate love as much, if physical touch was your love language, I think you would initiate it more often.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do initiate contact more often than I do,” Sherlock responded. “By your logic, I ought to have guessed yours more easily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it when you tell me I’m right,” John replied smugly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sherlock said, leaning forward and pressing his lips to John’s neck, “Is that what I said?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In effect,” John said, groaning as Sherlock pressed his bare chest against John’s back. “You feel really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Sherlock breathed in John’s ear as his hands caressed John’s sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” John affirmed, “But I won’t be distracted so easily. Words of affirmation,” John said, “That’s your love language.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uggh,” Sherlock replied, sitting back up and resuming the back massage. He slid his hands down, the heels of his palms pressing against the divots at the base of John’s spine. “I told you it was embarrassing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John turned his head, resting it on his arms so he could just make out Sherlock in the corner of his periphery. “It’s not embarrassing,” John replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s pedestrian,” Sherlock said, thumbs brushing just below John’s waistband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re all pedestrian,” John replied with a chuckle, squirming a little as Sherlock’s fingers edged lower and lower. “You can just take them off, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I didn’t want you to think this was only for sex,” Sherlock replied, leaning in and kissing the nape of his neck again and John could feel the heat of Sherlock’s body covering his, radiating off of him, making John shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would never,” he teased. “Sex is always just an added bonus.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They say it’s important,” Sherlock said, rather cryptically in John’s opinion, how was he meant to know what Sherlock was talking about?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says what is important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Experts on the five love languages,” Sherlock replied with a little huff that shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but Sherlock did it against the sensitive skin on the back of his neck and it made the pit of John’s stomach turn to lava. “They say if touch is a person’s love language, you should make sure to have non sexual touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can hold my hand and set my heart aflutter tomorrow,” John promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s hands paused their steady massaging, “It happens to you too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The heart thing?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John said, rolling slightly under Sherlock so that he could angle his body to actually be able to see Sherlock. “All the time,” he said softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Sherlock said, equally softly, as though he’d somehow been laboring under the delusion that John didn’t get the same butterflies in his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too, you know,” he said softly, leaning a bit to bump his head lightly against Sherlock’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sherlock assured. “I just didn’t know the fluttering thing happened to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna know a secret?” John asked, as he laid back down so Sherlock’s hands could continue to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always,” Sherlock replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John continued, “It has since the day I met you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could practically see the little smile quirking up the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, he’d seen that pleased little grin enough to know exactly what the other man looked like right now and wasn’t that an amazing thing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I handed you my phone and our hands touched, just for an instant, and my heart flipped over in my chest. I’ve spent what probably amounts to months of my life feeling butterflies in my chest because of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock leaned in and pressed a shy little kiss to John’s shoulder in encouragement, so John continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your brilliance has taken my breath away on more occasions than I can count.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock leaned forward, tucking his face in John’s neck to hide his smile there. His hands strayed to John’s sides and ribs, splaying protectively before trailing teasingly along his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John continued with a smile of his own, “the look on your face when you solve a case,” John groaned a little, “exquisite. The way you light up when you see a dog, it makes my stomach feel like I’ve swallowed bees. Or the way that you love Rosie, the day that I realized that you loved her like she was yours and that we weren’t just a burden, I literally went to bed and wept that night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” he murmured, moving a bit so he could see John’s face where it was partially hidden in his arms. “There is nothing, literally nothing, that you could do that would make you a burden on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The way you say things like that,” John said, “so simply, like they’re just,” he shrugged a little, “true.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They </span>
  <em>
    <span>are,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I love that,” John replied. “There are so many sexy, incredible things about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock tucked his face in John’s neck once more, settling in on top of him to listen again as he resumed teasing John’s sides with his fingers, “Sexy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmhmm,” John replied. “Like the little hip wiggle you do when you’re thinking something through. How bloody tight your shirts are,” John added, “the way you wear them unbuttoned at the throat, your suprasternal notch,” he groaned. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, “that face you make when you’ve figure it out-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve said that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but what I haven’t said is that it makes me want to throw you over the first available surface and have my way with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock wiggled a bit and John could feel him starting to grow hard against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you come out of the bedroom the day after we’ve solved a grueling case with your curls a complete mess, looking sleepy, and sated,” he groaned, “So sexy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock moved so that he could kiss John, leaning to the side slightly but keeping his front plastered to John’s back. The other man did often initiate kissing (or any sort of touching really) which was fine with John, but it always made John’s heart beat a bit faster when Sherlock kissed him or touched him first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he told him that, “When you kiss me first,” John gasped against his mouth, “All of the butterflies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John replied, leaning up to nip at Sherlock’s bottom lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man gave in with a whimper, diving in to kiss John once more; he kissed him for long moments, their bodies lazily rolling and rutting against each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John reached back to start getting the two of them out of their remaining clothes, shoving his pajama bottoms and pants down as far as he could (which wasn’t terribly far) so that he could feel the other man’s skin on his. “Off,” he managed into the kiss. “Take these off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grumble of displeasure, Sherlock sat up and moved off John so that he could get out of his pajama trousers. John did the same, kicking his clothes off and to the foot of the bed before rolling over onto his side “Grab the lotion,” he instructed the other man and Sherlock reached over to do just that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John took a pump of lotion onto his hand and slicked up the channel between his thighs before reaching over and doing the same to Sherlock’s cock. “Come on,” he encouraged, wiggling his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being engaged to a genius was not without considerable perks, Sherlock sidled up behind John, positioning his erection between John’s thighs. John squeezed tight around him and Sherlock groaned, his hips starting to thrust automatically, their bodies slotting together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That feels good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John agreed, moaning as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him, his fingers moving to tease John’s nipples into hard peaks.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pressed back against Sherlock, rocking and squeezing his cock between his thighs. Sherlock’s teeth worried John’s good shoulder, nipping at his flesh and making John gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” the other man gasped against his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” John said, reaching back and clasping the other man’s hip in his hand, drawing him impossibly nearer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” Sherlock groaned, his hand stroking down Sherlock’s body until he reached his erection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked down, watching as Sherlock’s hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke in time with their bodies rocking against each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock leaned impossibly closer, moving so that he could suck John’s earlobe into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. He moaned low in John’s ear when he inadvertently squeezed his erection tighter between his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fuck," John groaned. "Talk to me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you want me to say?" Sherlock asked, his hot breath ghosting over the cool patches where Sherlock had sucked on his earlobe.</span>
</p><p>"Anything," John said. "I love the sound of your voice." </p><p>"I love you," Sherlock said, and John's body jerked a little harder, a little faster. "You feel so good; your body around me, you cock in my hand. You taste good," he said, nibbling on John's ear once more. "I love the way you sound, the way you moan and gasp."</p><p>"You're so good," John told him. "So perfect, I love you."</p><p>
  <span>“Come for me, John,” Sherlock murmured directly into his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” John grunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock added a twist to the end of his stroke and it only took three more passes before John was orgasming, spilling over Sherlock’s fist, his hips jerking as he came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was, apparently, enough for Sherlock to reach his orgasm as well. He groaned into John’s shoulder, pulling him tighter back against him as their heart rates leveled out and they caught their breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I have made it take longer?” Sherlock asked after a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like it to?” John asked, rolling over and trying to avoid the wet patch (and mostly failing). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock frowned, “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John slotted their legs together and brushed his nose against Sherlock’s, “We can always slow things down a bit,” he said. “I could tease you more,” he added, watching Sherlock’s cheeks flush red as he bit his lower lip. “Use less pressure, make it so you feel like your orgasm is an itch under the skin that you can’t quite scratch. I could drive you absolutely mad with want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Sherlock breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” John agreed, kissing the tip of his nose. “But later, alright? I’m exhausted and Rosie is never going to let us sleep in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I could manage it now, either way,” Sherlock replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John flopped onto Sherlock’s chest, pressing a kiss over his heart, “I’m going to go grab a flannel in just a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock huffed a chuckle in response, “I’ll go get it. Consider it karma for waking you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmh. I was hoping you’d offer,” he replied, sitting up slightly to let Sherlock out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man dropped a kiss to his forehead, “Be right back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John hummed then called, “Oh, by the way, why did you wake me up in the first place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We forgot about the engagement photos,” Sherlock said from the bathroom. “And they are supposed to go out with the save the date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No we didn’t,” John called back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock came back in, flannel in hand, “What do you mean no we didn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I booked with Alexander almost a month ago,” John replied, taking the flannel from Sherlock’s hand and cleaning up quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John said, “we’ve got an appointment at the end of the week. I told you all of this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” John said in exasperation, tugging on his pajama trousers and crawling under the covers, “We’re going to need to do laundry tomorrow. I think this was the last set of clean sheets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock climbed into bed and snuggled up next to John, laying his head on John’s shoulder. “I’m still a little surprised.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock, I am capable of helping with this wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Sherlock said quickly, obviously realizing he’d touched a nerve. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t. I just have no recollection of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John settled onto the pillow once more, stroking his hand up and down the smooth, soft skin of Sherlock’s arm. “I think you were still trying to calm your mother down about the prospect of us having the wedding at the manor at the time,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock groaned, “Calling her was a mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When are we going to get to see it, by the way?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two more weeks,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes, “It’s silly for them to do all of the work to get it ready before we get there as though we haven’t got an imagination.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John chuckled, “It’s nice,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John yawned, “See you in a few hours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The week flew by and it seemed like no time at all that the two of them found themselves sitting down with Alexander and talking about concepts for photos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got loads of options,” Alexander told them. “We can do a shoot outside if you guys want. It’s sort of grey and muddy but I’m sure we could find some cute places. There are always piggy back rides, pictures of kissing, showing off the engagement ring with a little ‘I said yes’ blurb. We could do a cute set up indoors, a little picnic on a blanket in front of the fire. We could recreate the proposal scene-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John cleared his throat, “Best not do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock laughed, his fingers slipping easily through John’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could make up a different proposal scene,” he said with a knowing chuckle, “You wouldn’t be the first couple to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked over at Sherlock, feeling a bit helpless; he and Mary hadn’t had pictures done and he had no idea what to expect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked back at Alexander, “We leave ourselves in your very capable hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The afternoon was not a raging success. Some of the ideas felt like outright failures; they started outdoors and this made John immediately uncomfortable. Not because of Sherlock, just because he wasn’t much one for public displays of affection; he felt self conscious and like everyone was watching them. Still, he did his best to go along with it, strolling down the street holding hands (this he felt totally fine about obviously), kissing Sherlock in front of the London Eye, holding smoke bombs in front of a graffitied wall while they kissed, even trying giving Sherlock a piggy back. But kissing when you had to be posed a certain way felt awkward and giving huge cheesy smiles at the camera felt disingenuous, still, he did his best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really hoped something good came out of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s try back at home, shall we?” Alexander asked cheerfully, turning and heading back to Baker Street. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock reached over and took John’s hand in his, John looked back and gave him a little smile. “You’re doing fine,” Sherlock murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t feel like it,” he grumbled back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock kept his hand held tightly in his and leaned over to press a kiss to John’s lips, “It’s all fine,” he murmured, pressing his forehead briefly to John’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera shutter interrupted the moment and John blinked over at Alexander who was looking at the tiny screen on his camera. “Got you,” he mumbled. “Ready to head home, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Home it proved wasn’t all that much better. They tried the fake proposal thing but Sherlock’s reactions were either too much or not enough; they tried pictures posed on the sofa, on the floor, in front of the fireplace, even a few on their bed (which John pretty much immediately rejected without even seeing them). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And by the time Alexander was packing up, John felt quite dismal about the whole thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” Alexander said to them. “There are some really great shots here. We’ll find one you like. And if we don’t, we’ll try again and I will work harder at making you forget I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them tried to chuckle without much success.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you say the wedding is?” Alexander asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“December,” Sherlock replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Alexander said, eyebrows raised. “So maybe we can look back at some of the ones we took for Christmas, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he and Sherlock replied at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll work on them tonight and send you some options, you can let me know what you think. Sound good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, thanks very much,” Sherlock replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be in touch,” he said before heading toward the door, lugging his equipment with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m awful at this,” John groaned, flopping onto the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as awful as I am,” Sherlock replied, picking up John’s feet so he could sit on the couch before returning them to his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve seen me in pictures,” the other man said. “And besides, you had a practice run with Mary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t,” he said, sitting up a bit so he could look properly at the other man. “She had a thing about having her picture taken. We just sent out plain stationery save the dates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose that makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Sherlock replied. “If you were a super secret spy who was supposed to be dead, would you want your picture floating around any more than absolutely necessary?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He collapsed back onto the couch, “I guess you’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Usually,” Sherlock replied but their conversation was interrupted by two sets of feet on the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yoohoo!” Mrs Hudson called as Rosie burst into the living room and bounced on John’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How were your photos?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abysmal,” Sherlock replied dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Rosie said after thinking it over for a moment, “That’s because I wasn’t in them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John thought she may have been right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alexander might have been too polite to say so, but he seemed to agree. The proofs were actually better than John had imagined they might be but they all featured one photo of the three of them from Christmas, with two smaller photos at the bottom of just the two of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some of these photos aren’t actually that bad,” Sherlock said, sounding as surprised as John felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one they’d chosen for their Christmas card last year had been photoshopped to have the letters in the banner spell out “FAMILY TO BE” instead of “MERRY CHRISTMAS” and Sherlock liked that one. “It’s cute, we already know that people liked this picture,” he reasoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are already a family,” John protested. “Getting married doesn’t change that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just what you write, John-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said firmly. “I’m vetoing. We are already a family, I don’t want to look back at this years from now and feel like we started being a family when we got married. I don’t want Rosie to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Sherlock soothed. “It’s fine. Let’s look at the others.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They clicked through the next several proofs, feeling mostly neutral to them, but then they clicked on one that stopped John in his tracks. The large photo was the one that John had fallen in love with from their Christmas photoshoot where Rosie had gotten the two of them wrapped in lights and they were clinging to each other as they tried to remain upright, grinning like they’d never been happier in their lives. “I love this picture.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. It was my favorite from that day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mine too,” John said, giving him a little smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I like the pictures he’s chosen at the bottom, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alexander had chosen the one of the two of them that he’d caught when Sherlock had pressed their foreheads together; John’s eyes were closed but Sherlock’s were open, staring adoringly at him, and John’s fist was clenched in the lapel of Sherlock’s coat keeping him close. “That’s a good one,” John said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the other, and chuckled, this one was actually a mistake, he remembered; Sherlock had been tipping off his back at that point as they tried to smile and balance and they’d both ended up laughing. He’d captured them mid tilt, faces angled toward each other as Sherlock slid off, eyes scrunched with mirth and smiles wide and so, so fond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s actually a cute picture,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surprisingly,” John replied. “I’d imagine all of those would look ridiculous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, we like this one?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Let’s mark it and look through the rest, just in case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John agreed but he knew that was the one. It seemed only fitting that all of the pictures he loved best were ones that hadn’t been intended at all. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Every Fairytale Ending Needs a Castle (10 months out)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Here's this week's second installment, we're now ten months out from the wedding. In this chapter Sherlock takes John and Rosie to see the Countryside Manor they talked about as a venue. </p><p>Possible triggers: John talks a bit about his childhood, nothing explicitly stated about abuse but the subtext is clear. </p><p>There is some smut in this chapter- It starts when they're talking about the bathroom and you can skip to the page break if you want to finish out the chapter.</p><p>I do not speak French (not even a little bit) so if you notice something wrong with the French please let me know and I will go back and fix it. </p><p>I think that's it for now. Thanks very much for all of your kind words on this fic- they really mean a lot to me. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When John was little, he’d listened to stories about princesses trapped in towers guarded by a dragon, who were then rescued by a prince, and taken to live in a beautiful castle. In those stories, he’d found himself identifying (somewhat ironically given what Magnussen would say to them decades later) with the damsels in distress because he could understand what it was like to feel trapped, to feel powerless, to long for a different world and life. </p><p>In some ways, John escaped that life when he turned 18 and headed off to Uni. He never went back home after that, never spoke to his father again, and only talked to his mum a few times before his father drunkenly wrapped their car around a tree on their way home one night and killed both of them. He wasn’t trapped, wasn’t powerless, he’d rescued himself in some regards.</p><p>But in other ways, John hadn’t really escaped that life. He’d done a lot of work at therapy and on his own to sort through the messes his upbringing had caused but it still sometimes snuck up on him; that feeling of powerlessness. Sherlock had changed a lot of that just by virtue of being Sherlock. When they’d first met, John had felt trapped in his own body, powerless against the force of his own mind, he’d longed for a different life than the one he was living; in short he'd felt an awful lot like the little boy who'd listened to fairytales and longed to be rescued. And there was Sherlock. </p><p>Sherlock who’d looked at him and hadn’t seen a cripple but an army doctor, who hadn’t seen someone struggling with PTSD and depression but someone capable and loyal. From the moment Sherlock had popped into his life there was something about him that had felt like he was a valiant prince bringing John to a new life. </p><p>But for the first time, John was seeing the castle.</p><p>The sight of the Holmes’ Country Manor in France literally stopped John in his tracks. Even Rosie seemed speechless for a moment as they stared up at the massive house and John’s first instinct was to bring up the pre-nup again. He quelled the words before they could come out of his mouth; Sherlock had made views on that quite plain. </p><p>“Well,” John finally managed. </p><p>“Ah, Henri,” Sherlock said as an older gentleman stepped out and gave Sherlock a hug. “Bonjour! Comment allez-vous?" </p><p>“Bien! Bien, et toi? Comme tu as grandi! Où est passé mon petit caneton?” </p><p>Sherlock laughed, “Je suis le même. Peut-être plus heureux mais toujours moi,” and John was completely charmed by his openness and by his French.  “Pardonne-moi,” he said, turning and reaching for John, “Mon fiancé, John, et ma fille Rosie.” </p><p>The man, Henri, smiled at both of them, “C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer.” </p><p>“Pardon,” Sherlock said, “Ils ne parlent pas Francais.” </p><p>“Forgive me,” Henri said, seeming almost aghast. “It is a pleasure.”</p><p>“Not at all,” John said, breathing a sigh of relief that the man spoke English. “Please forgive my lack of French, I know a bit of Farci and Pashto but that’s about it.”</p><p>“Ah,” Henri replied, nodding, “Thank you for your service.” Then he bent down, “And you must be mademoiselle Rosie.”</p><p>“Oui,” Rosie replied. “Je m'appelle Rosie. Ca va?” </p><p>“In this setting you would ask ‘comment allez-vous?’ because you don’t know Henri well, yet,” Sherlock corrected.</p><p>“Oh, it is alright!” he said, to Sherlock. “Bien, mademoiselle, et toi?”</p><p>“Bien,” she replied. </p><p>“Tres bien!” he exclaimed. </p><p>“Merci,” she said, obviously quite pleased with herself. </p><p>He stood up, “I taught Sherlock a lot of French when he was young,” he told them.</p><p>“You did,” Sherlock confirmed with a grin.</p><p>“He was always trailing along behind me, mon petit caneton.”</p><p>“My little,” Rosie started, scrunching her nose as she tried to figure it out.</p><p>Sherlock chuckled, “duckling,” he supplied. </p><p>“Come in,” Henri said, “Come. I will show you to your rooms and leave Sherlock to give you the tour.”</p><p>John grabbed their overnight bags from the boot of the car and followed Sherlock and Rosie in. Rosie was openly oohing and ahhing at the grand staircase and massive chandelier in the receiving hallway. “Well, this explains how you could go to Buckingham Palace in a sheet,” John said. </p><p>“Oh, you didn’t,” Henri said, sounding scandalized as he led them up the stairs. </p><p>“Needs must when you’re dealing with Mycroft,” Sherlock replied loftily. </p><p>Henri shook his head, “Tu es terrible. Une menace absolue.”  </p><p>John laughed, even he could understand what had just been said. </p><p>“Mademoiselle Rosie,” Henri said, opening the first door on the right, “ta chambre.” </p><p>As the door swung open further they were shown a lovely room with yellow walls and a four poster bed with a gauzy white canopy. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with children’s books and toys, a little rocking chair sat in the corner by the floor to ceiling window. She let out a little gasp, “I get to sleep here?” </p><p>“Yes,” Sherlock replied with a little smile. “And you can read any of the books and play with any of the toys that you’d like.”</p><p>“Can I look?” she asked, looking up at the two of them with wide eyes. </p><p>“Yes,” John said, handing her the overnight bag they’d packed for her. “You can put your things in the dresser as well, alright?”</p><p>She nodded and took the bag, wandering into the room like she was exploring an enchanted place and John couldn’t really blame her.</p><p>“Your room is just down at the end of the hall,” Henri said. </p><p>John followed Henri and Sherlock followed John just a pace behind, he couldn’t help but wonder what Sherlock was thinking, wonder if Sherlock was watching his reactions, measuring and gauging what John was thinking. He wondered what Sherlock was making of John’s expressions and body language.</p><p>Before he could wonder too much more, though, Henri was swinging the door open to the most stunningly gorgeous room John had ever seen. It was a suite more than a room, John couldn’t help but think. There was a living space set up with a couch, two chairs, and an ottoman; white curtains framed doors that led out onto a balcony (and John couldn’t help but wonder what the view would be); on the other side of the room was a giant, luxurious looking bed with a mountain of pillows and a white bedspread. The whole room spoke of calm, from the muted shades of blue and beige, to the lovely hardwood floors, to the warm lights, to the absolutely gorgeous crown molding. “Sherlock,” he breathed.</p><p>“I’ll give you a moment, yes?” Henri asked. </p><p>“Henri?” Sherlock said as the man was on his way out. </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Could you watch Rosie for a little while? Just maybe fifteen or twenty minutes so John and I can talk?”</p><p>“Oh, no-” John started, not wanting to ask even more of the man.</p><p>“It would be a pleasure,” he said. “Truly. I’ll just show her down to the kitchen and whip her up a snack, it was a long journey.” He winked at Sherlock, “You remember your way to the kitchen, I’m sure.”</p><p>Sherlock chuckled, “I do.”</p><p>He stepped out of the room and closed the door with a gentle click. John looked around this room, eyes lingering on the fireplace that he hadn’t taken time to notice and the bookshelves on either side. There was a door just to the other side of the bookshelves and John wanted to look to see where it led but found himself rooted to the spot. </p><p>“Ensuite,” Sherlock murmured. “It used to have a claw-foot tub, but...” he trailed off.</p><p>“But?” John inquired, glancing over at him.</p><p>“Mycroft and I broke it,” he said, flushing slightly. </p><p>“What? How?” John asked, finally moving toward the bathroom to look inside. The bathroom was equipped with a lovely glass shower, a double sink, and an enormous jacuzzi style tub. </p><p>“Playing pirates,” Sherlock muttered. </p><p>“You broke the tub playing pirates?” John asked with no small amount of amusement. </p><p>Sherlock shrugged but the flush on his cheeks deterred John from asking more. That and his curiosity about the rest of the room. “This room,” he breathed as he looked out from the bathroom at what felt like a dream. </p><p>“There’s a closet,” Sherlock rushed to assure him, as though John had even been thinking about the closet.</p><p>“I was going to say that it’s bloody gorgeous.”</p><p>“Oh,” Sherlock said, his mouth snapping shut like he’d been thinking he’d need to justify the room to John.</p><p>“Come here,” John said softly, grasping the lapels of Sherlock’s coat and tugging him toward him so he could lean up and kiss him. “This place?” he said after kissing the other man until the tension slid from his shoulders and his body leaned into John’s. “It’s gorgeous. It’s more than perfect, Sherlock.”</p><p>“You haven’t seen the whole thing yet,” Sherlock replied.</p><p>“I know that I’d like to get better acquainted with that shower,” he murmured. “Imagine the sex we could have in there,” he said, leaning closer to nibble at Sherlock’s ear. “I could press you up against the glass while I fucked you,” he whispered and Sherlock’s body shuddered, “Steam all around us, your skin hot, and wet, and,” he licked the shell of Sherlock’s ear and Sherlock’s body shuddered against him, “slippery,” he finished. </p><p>“John,” Sherlock managed, voice straining. </p><p>“And I’d like to get better acquainted with that tub,” John said. He leaned in closer once more and Sherlock’s head turned automatically to give him access to his ear once more. “I’d get you all clean and relaxed before I’d make you kneel on the seat so I could rim you until you’re begging. Then I’d like you to sit on my cock and ride me until you’re screaming.”</p><p>“John,” he bit out again, and John could feel Sherlock’s hardness twitching against his stomach.</p><p>He pushed Sherlock’s coat off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor and it was a testament to just how far gone the other man was that he didn’t murmur a word of complaint. He turned him around so that Sherlock’s back was to his chest and he hooked his chin over the other man’s shoulder as they looked at the bedroom. “And I would <em> really </em> like to get better acquainted with that fucking gorgeous bed." John let his hands slide down Sherlock's torso, one gripping his hip while the other massaged the bulge in his trousers. He turned his head slightly so his breath was ghosting across Sherlock's ear as he said, "I want to splay you out across those covers that probably have a thread count higher than all of my sheets combined, and I want to take you apart. Bit by bit, until you are incoherent with desire, until we don’t know where one of us starts and the other ends.”</p><p>“John, fuck,” Sherlock breathed before spinning in his arms and crowding John backwards until his bum hit the sink. Then Sherlock’s fingers were at John’s flies, quickly undoing the fastenings so that he could shove John’s trousers and pants down his thighs. “Keep fucking talking,” the other man said as he dropped to his knees. </p><p>John groaned as Sherlock buried his face in his groin, licking a stripe up the sensitive crease between his groin and thigh and inhaling deeply. He leaned back on the counter, steadying himself with one hand as his blood rushed south, while the other hand carded through Sherlock’s curls. </p><p>Sherlock moaned and pressed a line of kisses down John’s rapidly hardening cock. He looked up at John with those stunning eyes and said, “What else?” his breath ghosting along John’s erection and making him groan.</p><p>“Suck,” he whispered when Sherlock took the head of John’s cock into his mouth, then John said, “I want you completely naked, the moonlight streaming in the window and illuminating your skin. You’ll look ethereal like something that I was never supposed to have, never supposed to be allowed to touch but by some miracle there you are.”</p><p>Sherlock moaned, grasping the base of John’s cock and starting to stroke even as he started to bob his head, licking and sucking at John like his erection was a melting ice lolly. </p><p>“Fuck,” he said, threading his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and holding on. “Maybe I’d want you to start on your stomach,” he continued. “I could slip a pillow under your hips and lick that gorgeous little hole until you’re writhing, until you’ve got my saliva running down your balls and between your thighs.” </p><p>He gasped as Sherlock moaned around his erection, the vibrations sending a shock of pleasure all the way to his toes.</p><p>“Fuck,” he grunted. “That’s it, love, so good.” He groaned as Sherlock slurped around his cock, trying to control the excess saliva, “Yeah. Suck me.” </p><p>Sherlock whined and John looked down to see that Sherlock’s hand that was not busy trying to keep up with his mouth on John’s cock, had found its way into his own trousers. </p><p>“That’s so hot,” he groaned. </p><p>Sherlock looked up at him under his eyelashes, obviously entreating John to keep talking.</p><p>“And then,” he said, panting as Sherlock squeezed a bit harder in encouragement, “then I’ll open you up, one finger at a time, bringing you to the edge over and over until you’re all but sobbing and begging me to take you.”</p><p>Sherlock let out a wrecked sob as he tries to take John deeper, sucking at him desperately.</p><p>“Careful, love,” John murmured, tracing his thumb along Sherlock’s cheekbone, “Don’t hurt yourself. You are so good,” he whispered. “So perfect, my darling.”</p><p>Sherlock shuddered and John could tell that he was nearing his release. </p><p>He continued, “Then I’ll flip you over onto your back,” he said, pausing to groan as Sherlock nodded slightly, eyes drifting shut as though he was picturing it. “I think I’d want to start with you riding me,” he said. </p><p>Sherlock let out a garbled moan.</p><p>“Yeah,” John said. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? You’d look gorgeous in the moonlight, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the trembling muscles in your thighs,” he could practically feel the other man’s muscles bunching under his hands. “Your pupils blown wide until there’s hardly any color left around them, your curls would be an absolute mess from the way you would have been tugging them while I got you nice and loose, your hole absolutely dripping.”</p><p>“Huh” Sherlock managed around John’s cock. </p><p>“But it would still be a stretch to fit me inside,” John murmured. “Just like it always is, no matter how well prepared you are. You’d sink down slow, taking me inch by inch until you were sitting in my lap. Then you’d start to ride me, your nails digging into my chest, head thrown back. Fuck you’re beautiful.” </p><p>Sherlock whimpered and John brushed his hair off his forehead. He opened his eyes, pupils wide and fixed on John.</p><p>“Yes,” he hissed before forcing more words out. “I’d flip you,” he managed, “so that I was on top thrusting hard into your body, you’d wrap your legs around my waist and I would thread our fingers together.” It was getting harder and harder to string words together, but John keeps working at it. “I want you to come without me touching you,” he said and Sherlock moaned, eyes rolling back in his head a bit. “I’d hit that spot inside of you that lights you up like a firework and you would come, spilling between our bodies, and your hole would clench down tight,” he broke off to gasp as Sherlock <em> sucked </em>, “your body would hold on tight to me, milking me until I was coming too, spilling-” </p><p>He broke off as Sherlock’s tongue did something positively wicked against the slit at the tip of his cock. </p><p>“Fuck. Do not fucking stop,” he said, grasping Sherlock’s hair just a smidge tighter and making the other man moan desperately. “Fuck, I’d come inside of you,” he managed. </p><p>The hand that had been down the front of his trousers was suddenly cupping John’s balls, two of his long fingers reaching back and rubbing over John’s perineum and John moaned, his hips rocking in spite of his best efforts to stay still.</p><p>“I’m going to come,” he gasped, tugging lightly at Sherlock’s hair to give him an out if he wanted it. This seemed to cause Sherlock to simply redouble his efforts, sucking hard enough that John was fairly certain his entire brain was being sucked out, too. “Sherlock,” he moaned as he released inside of his mouth. </p><p>The other man moaned, swallowing the flood of John’s orgasm the best could. </p><p>John’s entire body collapsed as he finished, sinking to the floor next to Sherlock with a weak groan. </p><p>Sherlock daintily wiped the corner of his mouth with his finger, before taking the the digit, covered in John’s come, into his mouth and sucking it off with relish. </p><p>He pounced on the other man, knocking him backward, catching his head before it hit the floor. He kissed him fiercely for a moment before sliding down Sherlock’s body, and getting his trousers and pants down just enough to free his cock. John barely had a moment to get his mouth around Sherlock’s cock before the other man was coming. He moaned and rolled his tongue along Sherlock’s frenulum trying to draw out his orgasm a bit. </p><p>When he pulled off, he completely collapsed on top of the other man but Sherlock didn’t seem to mind. He stroked his fingers through John’s hair and John sighed in contentment.</p><p>After a few minutes, when their breathing had calmed down and their hearts were no longer racing, Sherlock said, “Well, that was certainly not the conversation I was anticipating.”</p><p>“No?” John asked, propping his chin on Sherlock’s chest so he could look at the other man.</p><p>“No,” he replied with a little chuckle. “I was expecting you to think this,” he said, gesturing around the room, “Was all a bit much."</p><p>“It’s like a fairytale,” John said before he could stop himself.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s just,” he huffed at himself and his inability to use words in a helpful manner. “This whole place, it’s like something out of a fairytale. How could I not love it?”</p><p>The corners of Sherlock’s lips tipped up in a smile. “I’m glad. I really was not relishing the idea of telling mummy that we wouldn’t be able to have the wedding here.” He stretched a bit and groaned, “Up,” he said. “We have to get up. This floor is bloody hard.”</p><p>“It looks like granite,” John said, sitting up with a groan, “So that’s not surprising.”</p><p>“Marble,” Sherlock corrected absently. </p><p>“Right,” John said, shaking his head a bit. </p><p>The two of them stood up and tried to set their (now wrinkled) clothes to right, both laughing at the other’s futile attempts. </p><p>“I genuinely can’t wait to try out that bed tonight,” John said as he slid his fingers through Sherlock’s and headed toward the door. </p><p>“Indeed,” Sherlock replied and John watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. </p><p>He couldn’t resist, he tugged him down into one more kiss, licking into Sherlock’s mouth and drawing a moan from his throat as his hands clenched in John’s jumper. When he pulled back, Sherlock swayed a bit, eyes still closed. He wrapped his arms around his waist and waited until his eyes fluttered open once more.</p><p>“What was that for?” Sherlock murmured, searching John’s eyes for a moment.</p><p>“Because I am so <em> ridiculously </em> in love with you,” he murmured. </p><p>A sweet, shy little smile appeared on Sherlock’s face before he leaned in and tucked his nose against John’s neck. “I love you, too,” he murmured. </p><p>John was loath to leave this room but needs must, “Come on,” he said softly. “We’ve left poor Henri with our rambunctious four-year-old.”</p><p>Sherlock laughed as he led the way out of the room, “Henri used to watch Mycroft and me, there is nothing in the world that Rosie can do that is worse than the two of us.”</p><p>------------------</p><p>The rest of the day had passed in much the same fashion. Sherlock had taken John and Rosie for a “grand tour” showing them the other guest rooms, the (amazing, massive) library, the study, the dining room, the kitchen, the living room, and multiple bathrooms (and John had been utterly amazed by each), before taking them into the ballroom.</p><p>John let out a low whistle as he took in the high ceilings with and the grand staircase, the marble floors and the chandelier, “Sherlock” he breathed. </p><p>Rosie let out a peal of laughter, then, and skittered into the middle of the room, spinning in circles as she stared up at the crystals hanging from the chandelier. “Sherlock, dance with me!” </p><p>The other man smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he moved over to Rosie and bowed, “my lady,” he said, “may I have this dance?”</p><p>She curtsied and gave him a smile that was brighter than the sun, and then he helped her to step up onto his feet as he started waltzing her around the room, humming along to whatever music was in that incredible brain of his. John snapped a few photos of the two of them, wondering how something this wonderful could be his life.</p><p>-----------------</p><p>After they’d explored the manor and Sherlock had shown them to the chapel, promising that it would have some work done before the ceremony. John would be lying if he said his eyes hadn’t gotten a little misty. </p><p>Dinner had been delicious and Sherlock had cautiously informed him that the chef could coordinate dinner plans for the wedding if John wanted. John heartily agreed.</p><p>It seemed like they’d made good headway today in planning; they’d decided on a venue for the wedding, for the reception, and who was catering. He was sure Sherlock would be pleased to tick those things off his list. </p><p>After they put Rosie to bed, Sherlock had led John back downstairs to the study. He poured them both a generous glass of scotch and they settled onto the couch in front of the fire. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, hands entwined as they sipped their drinks, but eventually Sherlock said, “So, it’s a yes?”</p><p>“Yeah,” John said, surprised that the other man even needed to ask. “Yes, Sherlock. I can’t imagine a better place to get married.”</p><p>A small smile tipped the corner of Sherlock’s lips. </p><p>“You like it here,” John said softly. </p><p>The smile slipped away and Sherlock nodded, “It has good memories.”</p><p>“Tell me one?” John asked, giving the other man’s hand a little squeeze.</p><p>He hummed, “We used to come here every winter, just before Christmas to visit my grandmere,” he said, voice soft and eyes far away. “It always felt like leaving reality for a little while, school was,” he hummed, as though he wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence, “well, it wasn’t always pleasant,” he said. “But we’d come here and everything would be decorated for Christmas and my grandmere used to have these huge parties, we’d fill the ballroom with guests and a giant Christmas tree with presents. We’d get to stay up late and open a present before bed.” </p><p>“Sounds lovely,” John said, wrapped in the vision of the world Sherlock was painting.</p><p>Sherlock laughed at a memory that had apparently popped up, “I had my first kiss here,” he said. </p><p>“Oh?” John asked, “Should I be jealous?”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” Sherlock replied, chuckling again. “Her name was Elise, she might have been a year or two older than me at the time, fourteen perhaps,” he said, waving a hand “and I’d invited her to dance. I was eager to show off my ballroom dancing skills after my lessons earlier that fall. But she was a terrible partner.” </p><p>John couldn’t help but chuckle.</p><p>“Always trying to lead, stepping on my toes, eventually she swept me right around the back of the Christmas tree, made a comment about some mistletoe, and kissed me.”</p><p>John laughed, “what did you do?” </p><p>“Well I was shocked,” he replied. “I did tell directly following the kiss that I thought she was a very pretty, if bossy, girl but I was gay.”</p><p>“Poor thing,” John said with a chuckle.</p><p>“She accosted me!” he complained. </p><p>John shook his head with a laugh, and stood up, “Dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand.</p><p>“What?” Sherlock asked.</p><p>“Oh come on, you danced with Rosie earlier.”</p><p>“In the ballroom.”</p><p>He wiggled his fingers, “Dance with me, Sherlock.”</p><p>Sherlock took out his phone and put on some soft jazz music that made John’s heart warm as he pulled the other man into his arms. Sherlock went willingly enough, sidling up to John and taking his hand in one hand and wrapping his other around John’s shoulder. </p><p>John used his hand on Sherlock’s lower back to draw him closer, pressing a kiss to his chin. </p><p>“This isn’t proper, you know,” Sherlock said, body leaning against John’s. “We shouldn’t stand so close.”</p><p>John chuckled, “Don’t care,” he murmured as he kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock’s breath caught. </p><p>“John,” he sighed, melting into him and tucking his head in the crook of John’s neck as John swayed them in time to the music. </p><p>They were quiet again, just swaying together, John brought Sherlock’s hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss on his fingers, keeping their hands between them as they continued to sway in slow circles in front of the fire. </p><p>“I love you,” Sherlock breathed into John’s neck. </p><p>“I love you, too,” he replied. Then he asked, “Sherlock?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Are we staying here the night after our wedding?” he asked.</p><p>Sherlock drew back just far enough to see John’s face. “I thought we might since the reception will end so late.”</p><p>John nodded slowly, “I’d like that.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>“But, in that case,” John said with a sigh, “I don’t want to have sex in that bed tonight.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“Because I want that night to be special,” he said softly, “I want it to be something new for us.” He swallowed, “Is that okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Sherlock murmured, leaning their foreheads together. “Although, I’m wishing I hadn’t been quite so insistent on you telling me your fantasies about that bed. It’s going to be quite a challenge.”</p><p>“Sorry,” John said, a touch guiltily.</p><p>Sherlock shook his head, his forehead rubbing against John’s, curls tickling John’s hairline, “Don’t be. I’m sure the anticipation will well be worth the wait.”</p><p>John laughed and the two of them fell silent once more, dancing together, trading soft kisses and whispered endearments, until the fire was almost out. </p><p>“Ready for bed?” Sherlock murmured.</p><p>John nodded and Sherlock led him up the stairs to the bedroom. They got ready for bed and put on their pajamas before crawling into the king size bed and pulling up the down comforter. John groaned as the mattress conformed to his body and made him feel like he was being held by a cloud. “Oh wow,” he groaned, rolling around a bit, “This is amazing.”</p><p>“If you don’t want to have sex in this bed tonight, you need to stop sounding like you’re recording an adult film,” Sherlock said with a sniff.</p><p>John laughed and pulled Sherlock’s over to him so they were lying face to face, their limbs entwined. He stroked Sherlock’s hair, “Sorry love.”</p><p>Sherlock hummed and teasingly nipped at his chin before saying, “Tell me a memory.”</p><p>He tried to think of one from his childhood that felt like the one Sherlock had shared, light and slightly humorous, one that would bring a smile to their faces but he couldn’t place one at the moment. “I think I dreamed about you once,” he said softly, “when I was little.”</p><p>This seemed to intrigue the other man, “Oh?” </p><p>John nodded, he brushed an errant curl back from Sherlock’s brow. “Things weren’t always-” he broke off, unsure what he wanted to say exactly and Sherlock held his breath, “easy,” he finally settled on. “And I remember when I was little, and things were bad, Harry used to read me bedtime stories about Princes and Knights and true love.”</p><p>Sherlock reached between their bodies to take John’s hand in his and John gave it a little squeeze as he went on.</p><p>“And there was one night that was,” he paused again, searching for the right word, “not very good,” he finished lamely. “And Harry crawled into my bed with me and she read a story about a princess trapped in a tower with a dragon guarding it. As knights are wont to do, one came and slayed the dragon, rescued the princess, and brought her to his castle where they were married etc.”</p><p>“Okay,” Sherlock said softly, reaching out and brushing John’s hair back off his forehead. </p><p>“It was hard to fall asleep that night,” John remembers, “but when it was quiet, I did eventually drift off and I dreamed of being locked in a tower with a dragon that tried to hurt me any time I tried to get out. A knight, or maybe a prince, I don’t recall exactly, showed up and killed the dragon and came inside to rescue me. I don’t remember what was said but I remember feeling safe, feeling like everything was going to be okay and when he took off his helmet he had eyes that changed like the sea, just like yours. When I met you, at Bart’s all those years ago, I felt the same thing the moment your eyes locked on mine. Like somehow, for some reason I couldn’t quite understand yet, I felt like everything was going to be okay.”</p><p>“John,” Sherlock murmured, bringing his fingers to his lips and pressing a kiss into his knuckles. </p><p>John laughed, feeling a little self conscious, “I never told anyone about that.”</p><p>“I’m glad you told me,” Sherlock replied softly, sincerely, sliding impossibly nearer to John. </p><p>After a moment John said, “I want Rosie to have good memories.”</p><p>Sherlock swallowed, “she will. She does,” he added. “We’ll make sure of it.” The other man cupped his cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly along John’s cheekbone, “You are nothing like them,” he breathed. </p><p>John’s breath caught in his chest, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. </p><p>“John,” the other man murmured, his fingers slipping back into his hair. “Breathe.”</p><p>“Right, sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” he assured, leaning forward and brushing his nose along John’s.</p><p>“How do you know?” John whispered, barely able to get the words out.</p><p>“Oh, love,” Sherlock murmured and something in John broke, Sherlock didn’t use endearments with him, he just called him John and that was fine, but something about him using one now cleaved John's heart in two. He drew John in close, tucking John’s head under his chin and cradling the back of his skull. “Because I know you,” Sherlock said fiercely, answering John’s question in spite of the fact that John hadn’t really been expecting him to. “Because you are the bravest, wisest, best man I have ever known. You aren’t them.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he breathed, trying to curl impossibly closer to the other man. </p><p>Sherlock kissed the top of his head and held him closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered eventually. </p><p>“What for?” John asked, heart kicking up a little bit at his words. He drew back so he could look at the other man’s face but Sherlock had clenched his eyes shut. “What for?” John repeated, reaching out to touch Sherlock’s cheek.</p><p>He shook his head.</p><p>“Sherlock,” John said, “Stop it, you’re making me nervous.”</p><p>“Nothing,” Sherlock said, opening his eyes, the emotion John saw there flaying him open once more. “Just for all that you’ve been through.”</p><p>John was quiet, he didn’t know quite what to say; it’s why he never told people about his childhood, he couldn’t stand the pity, but Sherlock wasn’t looking at him with pity and he didn’t know what to do or say. </p><p>“I just,” Sherlock continued, his voice cracking, “I just wish that I’d been able to be there sooner. I wish I’d never had to leave.” Sherlock swallowed and John tried to think of what to say. “You deserve every good thing, John Watson, and you’ve had too much of the bad.”</p><p>“Hey,” John said softly, tipping Sherlock’s chin up so he could look him in the eyes, “Listen to me, okay?”</p><p>Sherlock nodded.</p><p>“This, you and Rosie,” he said, “You are more than enough good to make up for the bad. Yeah?” Sherlock kept his eyes downcast and John pressed on, because he needed him to know this. “You are the best thing,” he swallowed around the tightness in his throat, “the <em> best </em>thing imaginable. And I don’t know if all of the bad was required to get to this point but it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>Sherlock nodded once.</p><p>“I mean it Sherlock. The bad is something that we work through, the demons that we fight against but it’s all done with, yeah? It’s just you and me, and we’ve got Rosie, and we’ve got a family that loves us and would die and kill for us. I couldn’t ever have imagined this could be real. I couldn’t have imagined that I could be this happy. I didn’t even know that it was possible to feel this happy, to feel this,” he shrugged helplessly, “This loved.”</p><p>Sherlock looked up at him, his bottom eyelashes glistening with unshed tears. </p><p>“I love you,” John murmured.</p><p>“I love you, too, John.”</p><p>"You are more than enough, okay?" </p><p>"Okay," Sherlock whispered in reply.</p><p>He nodded and flopped back down onto the bed and tugged Sherlock over so he was laying across his chest, his head resting against John’s clavicle, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to trace patterns over John’s heart. </p><p>John pressed a kiss into those soft, dark curls that he loved so much and held the other man a little tighter. He'd started to drift off by the time Sherlock spoke again.</p><p>“This is a king size bed, you know,” Sherlock murmured. </p><p>“Hmm?” John hummed sleepily.</p><p>“We’re taking up the equivalent of a twin bed at the moment. I could give you some space, if you wanted.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” John murmured, squeezing him tighter, hoping that they’d never want to sleep in bed apart from one another.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to Adawein for helping me with some issues with the French! &lt;3 You're a peach.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Strongest Suit (8.5 months out)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello friends! Sorry this chapter is a bit late in the week- life has been a little hectic. I still plan to have two posted by the end of the week, though. This one's a bit long, but here we are.</p><p>There aren't really any triggers in this chapter that I can think of- if you don't like to read smut, just skip the end of this chapter. (John bottoms from the top in this one, in case positions matter to anyone.)</p><p>Sherlock might have a tiny obsession with John's thighs. But Martin Freeman has very attractive thighs, so can you really blame me? I mean Sherlock? I, like Sherlock, think that some of the suits that they've put John Watson in on the show have been hideous, especially knowing that Martin Freeman can look so infuriatingly handsome in suits, but I digress. </p><p>Seriously, thank you so much for all of the love you've left on this fic. Your comments mean more to me than I can say. </p><p>I hope you enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sherlock liked suits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should come as no surprise to anyone that he enjoyed wearing well tailored clothes but more than he enjoyed wearing them (which had hardly seemed possible) he enjoyed seeing John wear them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John was a very attractive man, Sherlock (and the slews of people he’d dated and even random strangers from the street) would admit that. Often, though, people would probably attribute their attraction to his personality, to the confidence (and competence) he seemed to exude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And make no mistake, that was certainly a part of what was so infuriatingly attractive about the other man but put him in a suit and Sherlock all but lost his damn mind. Choosing their wedding suits was something that Sherlock was</span>
  <em>
    <span> very </span>
  </em>
  <span>much looking forward to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he had not anticipated was that it wouldn’t just be the two of them going shopping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they arrived at the shop, Sherlock had strode in, his brain already sorting through all of the things that would make the perfect suit for John; a blue that would make his eyes pop, narrow sleeves, properly aligned shoulders (he shuddered remembering some of John’s old suit jackets and how bulky they looked on him), narrow lapels, trousers that fit perfectly around his </span>
  <em>
    <span>thighs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sherlock was all but salivating and he was entirely unprepared for Molly Hooper to pop up in his line of vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” she said cheerfully, holding out a cup of coffee to Sherlock and another to John.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock just stared at her blankly, not even reaching out to take the cup of coffee from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” John replied, glancing at Sherlock like he’d lost his mind and nudging him to accept his cup. "Thanks for the coffee."</span>
</p><p>"Oh, it's nothing," Molly said waving him off.</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell rang and Sherlock turned and watched in mild horror as Mycroft stepped in ahead of Greg, the two of them sharing a laugh over something. “What are they doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry’s in the back,” Molly said, apparently not hearing Sherlock's words, “she arrived just after I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Sherlock asked, looking between her and John, “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” John asked incredulously, as if the answer should have been obvious. “You said we needed to get our fittings done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant our fittings,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “Not everyone’s fittings,” he said, throwing a hand up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s not create a scene,” John said with a frown, clasping Sherlock’s elbow and leading him off to the side as Mycroft and Greg greeted Molly and gratefully accepted coffee behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Molly and Harriet can’t even wear anything from this shop,” he whinged, and he knew he was blowing things a bit out of proportion but he’d specifically reserved the shop for this morning for just the two of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I thought you meant for all of us, so I scheduled an appointment for them in an hour at a shop down the road. I thought we were supposed to help pick out the gowns and suits for the parties,” John said, sounding hurt and confused, and possibly a bit frustrated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sighed, “I had plans for you, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plans? What sort of plans?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know how long I’ve waited to get you into a bespoke suit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s brow furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Longer than I care to admit,” Sherlock said, answering his own question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I wouldn’t even have it today,” John said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock scrubbed his hands over his face, “But I would see all of the components. I’d be able to piece the whole thing together in my mind from the navy that will make your eyes stand out, to the waist coat that will make your shoulders look broad and your waist look narrower, to the jacket that will be perfectly tailored to hit just at the wrist, to the trousers that will hug your bloody fantastic </span>
  <em>
    <span>thighs.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>John stood speechless before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I wouldn’t have been able to see it on you but I would have been able to imagine it and we were supposed to be the only two people in the store apart from the tailors who are paid to be discrete. And I had planned to bring you into a dressing room and suck you off while you muffled your cries of ecstasy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” John interrupts, grasping Sherlock’s arm. “That is quite enough of that,” he said, looking flushed and a bit aroused, and Sherlock felt a bit better to not be the only one. “I’m sorry to ruin your plans, love, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t 'but' me. You would have let me and you would have enjoyed yourself thoroughly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can concede that you are probably right,” John replied, “but it doesn’t matter now because our entire wedding party is here and,” he said, leaning in closer so they wouldn’t be overheard, “I would really like to not be walking around with a stiffy in front of everyone before my inseam is measured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, fine,” Sherlock snapped, still feeling waspish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” John said again, “I didn’t know, I was just trying to help.” He shook his head and muttered, “won’t be doing that again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now it was Sherlock’s turn to feel guilty, “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be such an arsehole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just get this done, yes?” John asked, “Then you can take me home and imagine the suit to your heart’s content.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Sherlock agreed, leaning his forehead against John’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, you two lovebirds!” Harriet called. “I actually do have other things to do today. You aren’t the only ones getting married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John groaned, “We shouldn’t be getting married at the same time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we got engaged first, so you tell her that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed and entwined his fingers, “But their date is way closer than our’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which explains her waspishness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John squeezed his hand, “Be nice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And John had been nice, Sherlock thought, he’d been so nice, so gentle, so accommodating with her. Sherlock is certain he would not have had the same good grace if Mycroft was the one who had crashed their engagement announcement with one of his own, then announced his date was three months earlier. No, Sherlock would have been positively murderous.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But not John, he was so happy for her. He was over the moon and “beyond chuffed” (John’s words, not Sherlock’s) to have been asked to be her best man. He’d had to go to only subbing at the clinic in order to do everything Harry needed, everything they needed for their wedding, help Sherlock with solving crimes, and to still be a good dad for Rosie. And he seemed to be completely fine with it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John gave his hand a squeeze before letting go so he could wrap his arm around Harry, “Hey there,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “How are you? How’s Amelia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stressed,” she replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing Molly got you decaf, then,” he said, tapping the cup in her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was smart of the two of you to put it off for so long,” she said with a huff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John gave Sherlock a smile, “That was all Sherlock and his mum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, everyone,” Louis greeted before Sherlock could saying anything, “Mr. Holmes,” he added, reaching to shake Sherlock’s hand. “Welcome. I believe I overheard talk of a second appointment, so let’s get started shall we? Grooms, if you’ll step this way,” he said gesturing to a changing room. “Groomsmen into the other room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft,” Sherlock called over his shoulder on the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, brother dearest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You received the dossier I sent? With specifications for the suits you and Lestrade are to wear?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he replied, holding up a folder. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this part under control. I daresay that I spend as much time as you do procuring suits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware. It’s the only reason I’m entrusting you with this task.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg looked a little offended but John stepped in, “If it makes you feel any better, Greg, he doesn’t trust me either.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, because I have seen both of you in suits,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. “For the love of all that is good, make sure he lets them measure his shoulders correctly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll handle it, Sherlock,” Mycroft said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s so important about the shoulders?” John asked as he stepped into the curtained off room that Louis was leading them to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the shoulder measurements are wrong the whole suit won’t fit correctly,” Sherlock said, following John in and taking off his jacket and trousers. “You can tailor the other parts of the jacket, but shoulders are a different matter entirely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” John said, watching Sherlock undress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to need to lose your trousers and your jumper so Louis can get a proper measurement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started to undress, “Good thing I didn’t go without pants this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that a thought you were considering?” Sherlock asked, admittedly a bit perplexed. “Is that something you do?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” John replied quickly, “I just-” he shrugged helplessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re nervous,” Sherlock realized. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” John confessed. “I am just suddenly second guessing every single suit I have ever worn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How many times was Sherlock going to make an arsehole of himself today? “John-” he started but was cut off as Louis returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello again,” he said, stepping into the room. “Let’s get the measurements over with so we can work on the colors. We’ll invite your party to join us for that part, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded stiffly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Holmes, let’s start with you,” he said and Sherlock was grateful, perhaps John would see that there was nothing to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was quiet, John watched Louis as he did his measurements and chatted idly about whatever the latest trends were, and Sherlock watched John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louis finished up quickly, “You can get dressed again, Mr. Holmes,” he said as he made his way over to John. He gave John his hand to shake, “It’s nice to meet you Dr. Watson, Sherlock has certainly told me a lot about you. You are just as handsome as he says,” he added with a little wink at Sherlock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” John replied. “Thank you,” he added politely. “And just John is fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Sherlock tells me we’re looking for a very classic, tailored fit for your suit,” he said, “is that what you were hoping for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes found Sherlock’s across the room, “Yeah,” he replied. “Whatever Sherlock thinks is best. He is clearly more knowledgeable than I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man hummed and wrote down a measurement, “Well, if you have requests we’re glad to work with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John gave Sherlock a little smile and Sherlock’s heart unclenched a bit. “I’m sure there are some things in the world that I know more about, but this isn’t it. I’m honestly happy with whatever he wants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The first indicator of a good marriage,” Louis said with a wink as he finished John’s measurements. “There we are. Not too painful, I hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” John chuckled. “Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give the both of you a few minutes to get dressed again, alright? Come out when you’re done, I’ve made several sketches for you to look at, and had my assistant pull fabrics to meet your specifications,” he added with a smile. It was only a moment more before he was leaving the room and silence settled over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to have ruined your plans,” John said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock strode across the floor to him and cupped his cheeks in his palms and kissed him. John let out a little gasp of surprise but melted quickly into the kiss, clenching his hands in the fabric at Sherlock’s sides and drawing him closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sherlock pulled back he whispered, “I’m sorry I’ve made you feel inadequate all morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that,” John protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you have,” he said. “I’ve made you feel uncomfortable and like we’re from different walks of life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” John said, “We are from different walks of life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, if you wanted to get married in suits off the rack I would. If you wanted to get married in a bed sheet, I would. If you wanted to get married in jeans and jumpers...” he trailed off, “Well, if you wanted to wear those things I would let you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed, “I love you, you madman. I don’t want to get married in jeans and a jumper, I am more than happy to wear a suit, I just wish you’d told me that my suits were all wrong before today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock stepped away to allow the other man to get dressed once more, “I wouldn’t say they're all wrong, I would just say that they could have used a bit of tailoring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve got you now, haven’t I? I’m sure I’ll never wear an ill fitting suit again,” he teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Sherlock promised, holding out his hand to John and leading him out of the room to where everyone else was waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>---------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John had insisted on taking everyone out to lunch following going to the bridal store to choose out the girls’ dresses (simple but pretty garnet dresses made out of a comfortable jersey that would match the ties that all four of the men were wearing.) They’d gone with navy suits for John and Sherlock, and with slate grey suits for Greg and Mycroft; they all had a garnet waistcoat and tie. John had been a bit skeptical about how the colors would go together, but Sherlock could see the whole thing in his mind’s eye and it was going to look devastatingly gorgeous in the snow. If they got any for their wedding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant and as impatient as Sherlock was to get John home and directly to bed, their lunch was surprisingly nice. Finally they’d gotten into a cab, after John had listened to Harriet natter on about her wedding for far longer than Sherlock thought was necessary, and they’d headed on their way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock slid across the bench and pressed his mouth against John’s ear, “I can’t wait to get you home,” he murmured, tracing his fingers up the seam on the inside of John’s thigh. “I know just what I want to do with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” John asked breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock replied and he moaned just a little, a soft exhale in John’s ear and John’s whole body shuddered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand grasped Sherlock’s knee, “Why don’t you tell me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First, I’m going to get you completely naked,” Sherlock whispered, fingers trailing higher up John’s thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Off to a good start,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’m going to have you get on your hands and knees on the bed and I’m going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lick,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he paused to flick his tongue inside of the other man’s ear for emphasis, “and suck, and kiss your thighs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got an odd preoccupation with my thighs today,” he murmured, breath coming out a bit harsher than he’d probably meant it to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just today,” Sherlock said, kneading John’s thigh slowly under his palm, feeling his breathing hitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded and was about to say more when the cabbie shouted at the two of them, “Oi! We’re here. Out you two go!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John handed the man his fare and a tip, his ears flushed pink, and Sherlock couldn’t quite tell if it was embarrassment or arousal, but it was no matter because if it wasn’t totally arousal at the moment, it would be soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them stumbled inside and up the steps and Sherlock bumped straight into John when he drew up short when they got into the living room. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in John’s chair, playing with Rosie. Sherlock stopped the groan, but only just, when Rosie caught sight of them and flew into John’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy!” she cried. “We missed you.” She reached out and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s neck, pulling him close, too. “Did you find my dress?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to wait a bit for your’s, remember?” Sherlock asked, willing his libido back under control. “Because you may have a growth spurt in the next eight months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie huffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” John said, setting her back down on the floor and crouching in front of her, “Don’t you want to help pick out your own dress?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed to give this some serious thought, then replied, “Yes, I would.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there you are then,” John said with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nana Hudson has been helping me practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Hudson chuckled, “Well, those old silk flowers had to come in handy for something.” She patted Rosie on the cheek as she headed toward the door. “Thank you for your help baking today, Rosie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome,” Rosie replied solemnly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock and John a little wink, “I’ll bring some biscuits up once I’ve finished baking them. But not too many,” she said wagging a finger, “You boys have just been measured for your wedding suits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie seemed to find this hilarious and collapsed into giggles on the sofa. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that’s funny do you?” John pretend-growled before chasing her over and tickling her until she was wriggling and laughing even louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Sherlock’s heart felt so full of love for the two of them that he supposed he could wait until later to ravish the love of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-----------------------------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Sherlock had planned the whole day to go a certain way and nothing had quite gone right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And John knew that Sherlock would never begrudge Rosie time with them, he wouldn’t trade time spent together for anything, but John was frankly a bit impressed that Sherlock hadn't had a massive strop with all of the things that hadn't gone the way he'd intended. To make matters even worse, Rosie had all but refused to go to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bed is stupid!” she’d cried at the two of them. “I’m not even sleepy,” she’d winged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And normally, John would have pointed out to Sherlock that a strop like this was entirely his fault; that she sounded just like him. She was overtired and she did the same thing that Sherlock did and fought that exhaustion tooth and nail. Normally, John would have rubbed it in, just a little, how ridiculous this sort of behavior was but not tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead he’d said, “Alright bug,” pressing a kiss to Rosie’s curls, “You win. Daddy is going to go get ready for bed,” he’d looked at Sherlock significantly and the other man gave him a short nod that he understood, “and Sherlock can read to you until you’re sleepy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yay!” Rosie cheered, snuggling down into her bed further, clutching her bee plushy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John knew she’d be out in no more than ten minutes, fifteen at the most. Something about Sherlock’s voice when he was reading put her straight to sleep and he couldn’t blame her; sometimes when John was having a hard time sleeping he made Sherlock talk to him, too, the sound of his voice was soothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushed his hand over Sherlock’s shoulder and headed down the stairs. The first thing he did was take a shower, washing all of the sweat and grime from an afternoon of chasing a four-year-old around off his body, fighting down a silly blush when he paid extra attention to one particular part of his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John was toweling off, stepping into the bedroom still completely naked when Sherlock knocked him over and onto the bed, face down and arse up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have waited all bloody day for this,” Sherlock groaned, pressing his still fully clothed body against John’s naked one and sucking at the back of John’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John groaned, “Did you lock the door?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded and sucked a bruise on John’s spine, his fingers clenching against John’s hips, and John could feel the other man’s hardness pressing against his arse through his clothes and his own cock responded viscerally, blood flowing swiftly south between his legs. “Move up the bed,” Sherlock groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to get off of me if you want me to do that,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man grumbled under his breath but sat up and John crawled higher up the bed. He let his head rest on his arms but kept his arse in the air, spreading his legs slightly in an invitation that Sherlock was obviously quite keen on accepting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock started in the crease of his knee, his tongue flicking out and licking before his mouth slid up and he nipped at the crease between John’s arse and the top of his thigh. John yelped, his body jerking at the unexpected sting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s hands gripped his hips, his thumbs soothing along just under John’s arse. “Sorry,” Sherlock murmured, kissing that spot he’d just bitten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’alright,” John slurred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man set to work once more, kissing and licking the back of John’s thighs from knee to buttocks, sometimes sucking, somethings flicking his tongue over spots where John was ticklish, spots that made him squirm, his cock growing harder still. Sherlock's hands massaged his thighs as he lavished attention on them and John couldn't help but wonder how he'd misses Sherlock's attraction to them. Eventually, Sherlock trailed his mouth in between John's legs, sucking and licking and kissing the inside of his thighs, his curls tickling all of the sensitive skin and making John shudder as he fought against the desire to writhe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” he gasped as the other man sucked a large bruise at the crease between where his thigh and groin met, oh so close to where he was all but desperate to have him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock drew back and spread John’s buttocks wide and John groaned, feeling so good, so powerful, as he listened to the other man drawing harsh breaths just from </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him. It was a heady feeling, knowing that Sherlock was so enraptured with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did I ever get this lucky?” John wondered aloud, turning slightly to look at the other man over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up and meeting his eyes, Sherlock replied, “I was just wondering the same thing.” He smiled, then asked, “John, can I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he interrupted. “Fuck, Sherlock. Yes. Whatever you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock let out a strangled noise before diving in and placing a kiss directly over John’s hole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John moaned and tried to spread his legs even farther. He’d done this to Sherlock multiple times, rimming a partner until they were incoherent was a particular talent of his (and once he’d memorably made Sherlock come from just that alone) but Sherlock hadn’t returned the favor. And that was fine, rimming wasn’t for everyone and he genuinely didn’t mind, but it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have Sherlock’s tongue there. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Yes. So, so good,” he groaned encouragingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man placed a few more relatively chaste kisses over John’s hole before John felt him lick his lips, his tongue brushing along John’s sensitive flesh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huhh,” he managed, “Sherlock, oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could say more, Sherlock was moving his lips over John’s hole, his tongue teasing just the edges, flicking out before retreating once more. Sherlock’s huge hands cupped John’s buttocks, squeezing and spreading him so that his mouth could get closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” John breathed, his fists clenching in the sheet underneath him. “Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he groaned and Sherlock moaned, his tongue slipping out and trailing more firmly over John’s hole. “Yeah. Fuck Sherlock,” he groaned, pushing his hips back to get more. “More,” he demanded, “Please more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock obliged him, flicking his tongue over his entrance before swirling in a slow circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” John sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started to lick more firmly, dragging his tongue over John’s hole, making him wet and making him ache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John was a heartbeat away from reaching back to hold his head still so he could thrust back on his tongue when Sherlock saved him the trouble by pointing his tongue and pressing it inside of John with a moan. “Yes,” John hissed, consciously trying to relax his body. “Sherlock, more.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man started a rhythm, thrusting and swirling his tongue, doing a remarkable job mimicking what John had done to him, and John supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at how quickly Sherlock had learned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock licked and sucked at John’s rim until John was shuddering, his cock twitching between his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fingers,” he gasped when he didn’t think he could take anymore and Sherlock immediately slid one slick finger inside of John without any resistance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rested his forehead against John’s back as he panted and tried to catch his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fantastic,” John praised, “you’re doing fantastic, love.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” he murmured, pressing a reverent kiss to the dimple at the base of John’s spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another,” John said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the click of the cap on the lube as Sherlock hastened to obey. He’d just lined up and was about to press the second finger in when they heard a little voice over the monitor, “Daaaddy. Sheeerlooock!” Rosie called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them froze and it might have been comical if not for the fact that they were both so fucking desperate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please go back to sleep,” Sherlock whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock!” the little voice called again, probably presuming that her boring father would be asleep already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to go up,” John groaned. “If we don’t, she’s just going to come down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock whimpered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, let me up,” John said, trying to remember where he'd left his dressing gown and starting to move, “I’ll take care of it and be back down in a flash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sherlock said, pressing John back down into the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m still dressed and she nods off faster when I read anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his fingers out of John’s arse and John turned to look at him, “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded, wiping his fingers on the towel John had discarded at the edge of the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” John said, leaning over to kiss the other man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock!” Rosie called, this time even louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duty calls,” Sherlock said, giving John a little grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John groaned and grabbed the collar of Sherlock’s shirt to drag him in for one more kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you, too,” Sherlock whispered before heading out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the door open and Sherlock’s voice over the monitor, “What are you doing awake?” he asked and John could picture him with his hands on his hips as he moved toward the bed. Sherlock must have opened up </span>
  <em>
    <span>James and the Giant Peach</span>
  </em>
  <span> because his soothing voice drifted through the speaker as he started reading again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the moment Sherlock’s voice was anything but soothing to John; it seemed to crawl under his skin and fill him with an empty sort of ache. It was then that he decided to take matters into his own hands. As he listened to the soft, deep timbre of the other man’s voice, he poured lube over his fingers and reached back to press two inside of him. He let his ears unfocus so that he could imagine it was just Sherlock’s rumbling voice as he stood behind him, encouraging him. Would Sherlock like that, John wondered? Watching him wank? It wasn’t something the two of them had tried as of yet but it seemed that neither of them were particularly shy. He imagined Sherlock’s voice instructing him to twist and scissor his fingers as he stretched himself, and John knew that from this angle he’d never be able to reach his prostate but that was probably just as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s voice was getting softer and softer, so John reached back with his other hand (almost falling off the bed in the process) and poured more lube on his third finger, making a bit of a mess as lube slipped between his buttocks and trickled down his thigh, before working his third finger in next to the first two. As soon as Sherlock got downstairs he was jumping him, he decided, gasping as he spread his fingers and stretched his hole even wider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard Sherlock stop talking and waited with baited breath to see if Rosie would stay sleeping, the soft click of the door confirmed that Sherlock had made it out of the room, and the creak of the fourth step from the bottom confirmed that Sherlock was almost to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John removed his fingers and stood up on wobbly legs, making his way to the door. The moment that Sherlock was through, John grabbed him, closing the door and all but throwing Sherlock up against it as he attacked his lips with kisses and his buttons with his fingers. It only took a moment for John to get too frustrated with the buttons and before he could even think clearly, he was tearing the shirt open, buttons pinging off the wall and scattering across the floor, leaving Sherlock moaning desperately into the kiss. His fingers went straight to Sherlock’s trousers and he made short work of those, sliding his trousers and pants down Sherlock’s long legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Sherlock was naked too, John pressed him back against the door again, kissing him hard for a long moment before reaching down and scooping his legs off the floor. Sherlock groaned and wrapped his legs around John's waist and arms around John’s neck, body undulating against John’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only a few steps from the door to the bed and John pivoted and crossed the distance with ease before dropping Sherlock onto the bed and straddling him. “Ready?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry?” Sherlock managed, looking completely debauched and borderline delirious; his curls riotous from John’s fingers, lips red from John’s teeth and tongue, pale skin flushed with arousal, and pupils blown wide until they covered all but the barest ring of color.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John reached for the lube, coated his hand, then reached behind himself for Sherlock’s erection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hissed and arched into his touch, his eyes closing and head snapping back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready?” John asked again as he pressed the head of Sherlock’s cock against his entrance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” Sherlock choked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a yes?” he asked, teasing both of them by circling his hole with the head of Sherlock’s cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock gasped. “Bloody,” he groaned as John gave his cock a fond squeeze, “Yes. Of course it is a yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John took a slow breath and focused on relaxing his body as he slowly slid down Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on John’s thighs, his fingers clenching against John's flesh to give himself something to hold on to. But John forced himself to focus on just sinking down in one fluid motion, ignoring the urge to just start bouncing on Sherlock's cock. He was quite pleased with himself when he bottomed out, his buttocks resting on Sherlock’s lap. “You good?” he panted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just,” Sherlock pushed out a breath, eyes still clenched shut, fingers massaging John's thighs, “Give me a second,” he pleaded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded and did his best not to move but there was something instinctual that made him want to circle his hips, to find that place inside of himself that made his body feel like he’d been shocked by electricity. “Sherlock,” he asked again after a few moments, voice tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” the other man breathed. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John groaned and circled his hips, rolling just a little, searching for his prostate. “Put your knees up,” he requested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock was quick to obey and John leaned back into the support and gasped, “Fuck. Got it,” he groaned. “Can you thrust now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man nodded, bracing his feet on the bed and his hips starting to thrust as John lifted himself up and dropped down again, still leaning back so he could get Sherlock’s cock to hit his prostate. They moved together, working to find a rhythm, Sherlock moaning and panting underneath him, eyes still closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands came up to hold John’s hips, guiding and supporting his movement as they came together. John started moving faster, urging Sherlock on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m,” Sherlock panted, fingers clenching harder. “I’m not going to last,” he grit out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me either,” John replied, he reached down and took a hold of his cock, trying to pump in time with Sherlock’s thrusting, “So fucking good,” he groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock, look at me,” John requested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man’s eyelids fluttered open and locked on John’s. “I love you,” Sherlock managed, and that was enough, John stroked himself as he came, body clenching around Sherlock as he rode out his orgasm. Distantly he could feel Sherlock emptying himself inside of John, his body clenching before he went boneless under John and John collapsed forward onto his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock let out a soft oof sound but held John tight to his body as though he was afraid of letting him go. His chest shuddering under John.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” John murmured, sitting up just enough so he could trail kisses across Sherlock’s brow, “Alright, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded but buried his face in John’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John gathered him close, wincing as Sherlock’s cock slipped out of his body at the movement, “I’ve got you,” John whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded again and John just held him, whispering soft endearments and promises of love while Sherlock trembled in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sherlock’s body had stopped shaking and relaxed once more, John pulled back and brushed a hand over Sherlock’s face, “Alright?” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock was looking down at John’s collarbone, distinctly not meeting his eyes, “Sorry,” he murmured, voice sounding rough and a bit hoarse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” John asked, cupping his cheek and brushing his nose over Sherlock’s. “Why would you be sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a lot,” Sherlock whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I’m inside of you,” he murmured and John buried his fingers in his curls, gently rubbing his scalp with the tips of his fingers. “It’s a lot,” he repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too much?” John asked. “We don’t have to, Sherlock,” he added. “I’m sorry I thought you wanted-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” Sherlock interrupted hastily, his eyes flickering up to meet John’s, “I do,” he added softly. “I just don’t know why it’s always me falling apart after sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, that made more sense. “It’s alright,” John replied. “I genuinely do not mind in the slightest,” he added. “It’s all hormones,” he murmured, “You know that. Just brain chemistry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s fingers slipped up his spine, trailing lightly over John’s skin and that seemed like a good sign. “But you don’t seem to get upset.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” John said, sitting up further and making the other man meet his gaze. “Our brains are wired differently but don’t think for a moment that I love you any less or that I’m any less affected by intimacy than you are, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it, love,” he said. “I didn’t know that sex could feel like this before you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Sherlock asked, a shy little smile tipping up the corner of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John said, kissing the side of his mouth where the smile was hiding and turning it into a full blown grin. “Sex has always felt good but it’s a whole different level with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Different how?” Sherlock asked, and he might be fishing a bit but John decided he could allow that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Different because I give you all of me,” he said softly. “Because with you I don’t feel like I have to hide or hold parts of myself back. And I never realized that keeping parts of myself from lovers meant that I wasn’t allowing them to give themselves over completely either. It makes me feel so much more,” he murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like a feedback loop,” Sherlock replied with a little nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John chuckled, “'Spose it is.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over Sherlock’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sighed, body loose and relaxed under John and John loved him, every last bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more minutes, John got up and headed to the loo to grab a flannel and when he got back Sherlock had gone from lazy to thinking. "You played rugby with a librarian," he said.</span>
</p><p>"Yeah," John replied as he started to wipe the semen from Sherlock's stomach and chest. "Ryan."</p><p>"He'd just broken up with his longtime girlfriend."</p><p>"Yes," John replied, brow furrowing not at all sure where Sherlock was going. </p><p>"Do you think he's still single?"</p><p>He sighed and reached for his phone, "I'll check social media."</p><p>"Good thinking," Sherlock replied.</p><p>"Why do you ask?" John asked as he looked him up. </p><p>Sherlock gave him a little grin, "Fancied playing matchmaker a bit."</p><p>"Matchmaker?" John asked, eyebrow rising in concern. "With who?"</p><p>"Whom," Sherlock correct absently. </p><p>"Sherlock," he said.</p><p>Sherlock looked over at him, "Has it occurred to you that a man who has three cats, wrote a book about anatomy, enjoys spending afternoons on the couch reading, and forms strong attachments that are too much for some people like his ex-girlfriend, might be perfect for Molly Hooper."</p><p>John blinked at him, "I'm not going to even ask how you know all of that about him."</p><p>"Spoil sport," the other man teased.</p><p>"But now that you mention it, I think you might actually be right."</p><p>"Of course I am." </p><p>John huffed he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the other man's lips. "What do you need me to do?"</p><p>Sherlock grinned, "I haven't quite worked it out yet. I'll let you know in the morning."</p><p>He couldn't help but return Sherlock's smile. "If the whole consulting detective thing ever falls through you could go into matchmaking," John said as he laid down and tugged Sherlock into his arms once more.</p><p>"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Matchmaker."</p><p>"Sherlock Watson Holmes," John corrected through a yawn. "I'm sure it will be at least 8 months before you have to start your matchmaking business."</p><p>"Sherlock Watson Holmes," Sherlock whispered. "Told you it would work."</p><p>John's too sleepy to parse out exactly what Sherlock meant by that, but he pressed a kiss to his curls and agreed with him, just the same. Sherlock Watson Holmes would definitely work.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too (7 Months Out)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello lovelies. I'm sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! My parents came to visit for a week and a half (just after I posted the last update). They're lovely and they mean well but somehow every time they visit they trigger a massive depressive episode, so I've been battling my own stupid head for a couple of weeks and haven't quite gotten myself out of it yet.</p><p>Anyway, I just wanted to let you know why this chapter is a little late. Please know that your kind comments mean the world to me and I am so grateful for them, even if it takes me a little while to respond. </p><p>Also, this chapter is really long. Possible triggers include Rosie having a severe allergic reaction (she is absolutely fine).</p><p>Here's a chapter about cake tasting (and what can go wrong there?). </p><p>Thanks for reading along! Enjoy! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There had been one thing and one thing only that John had truly enjoyed about the preparations for his first wedding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cake Tasting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved cake. He always wondered if Sherlock knew how much he loved cake, because if he did surely he would have teased John about it as much as he teased Mycroft. But there had nary been a comment about his affinity for cake, so John assumed he must not have taken notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As was often the case with such assumptions that John made, he was wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to clear your calendar for this Saturday,” Sherlock said casually (perhaps too casually) one afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s brow furrowed, “For the whole day?” Harry’s wedding was rapidly approaching and she was slowly but surely losing her mind. “Harry’s wedding is less than four months away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but we also have things to attend to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sorts of things?” John asked and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. “Should I try to deduce it?” John asked with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sighed, “Can’t you just let it be a surprise? I promise that it’s something that you’re going to enjoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his lips, “For you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they’d gone to bed that night and John, in a fit remarkably like his other half, had woken up in the middle of the night and said, “cake!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To say Sherlock had been a bit irritated would be an understatement and John resisted the urge to point out that this is what always happened when John made a plan; Sherlock always knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a good sport about it, nonetheless, and Saturday morning had them getting up bright and early and John was excited. He hummed a tune under his breath as he got Rosie ready for their excursion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t in the most cooperative of moods, she’d been a bit “bluesy” as Sherlock said since yesterday afternoon (which happened sometimes, John always called it emotional constipation and since he and Sherlock often suffered from the same ailment, it wasn’t much of a surprise that they’d passed it on to their daughter) but it didn’t dampen John’s mood. “Trust me,” he said, “You are going to love this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I just want to feed the ducks,” she all but screeched at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock appeared in the doorway, “My, what a fuss you are making Watson.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watson-Holmes,” she grumbled belligerently, stomping her little foot emphatically, and John just loved her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon me,” Sherlock said, with a smile as wide as the ocean, “Watson-Holmes just doesn’t have the same ring to it when it comes to a nickname.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do I call you Sherlock?” she demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you prefer to call me?” Sherlock asked, as he handed her a pair of purple, sparkly leggings that John had forgotten she owned. Apparently, these were suitable unlike the dozen or so pairs of trousers and leggings that John had offered her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She almost fell over trying to put on her leggings and John reached out to steady her, “I can do it,” she grumbled at John. He held up his hands in surrender and she turned her grumpy little gaze on Sherlock and John waited, heart beating a bit faster for a reason he couldn’t quite name yet. “No one else calls their daddy his name.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John froze, Sherlock froze, and Rosie glared at the two of them with her best impersonation of Sherlock at a crime scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s brain seemed to unfreeze first, “Well, Rosie you already have a daddy,” he started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” John interrupted, not especially liking the direction of Sherlock's reasoning, “and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be confusing if you called us both daddy, but what if we called Sherlock something else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” she asked, bottom lip stuck out adorably as she pouted at him. John really needed to stop finding the two of them adorable when they pouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe papa?” he offered and Sherlock froze again next to him and John could see him blinking rapidly out of the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie seemed to consider this, “And I wouldn’t call you Sherlock anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock didn’t seem to know quite what to say about that so John said, “Nope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless you wanted to,” Sherlock added hastily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa,” Rosie murmured thoughtfully and Sherlock’s hand found John’s grasping it so tightly that John thought he might bruise. Rosie nodded, “Yes. Papa is good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock blinked and John could tell he was fighting back tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John agreed, giving Sherlock’s hand a gentle squeeze, “Papa is good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa,” she said imperiously, “I would like my unicorn sweatshirt.” Then she added, “Please,” so John wouldn’t scold her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Sherlock managed, standing up and making his way to the closet and if he took a few minutes too long finding the shirt well, John wasn’t going to say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>---------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thirty minutes, a promise to visit the ducks this afternoon, and one cab ride later, the three of them found themselves standing outside of a bakery that smelled positively divine. “Sherlock, please marry me,” John said, “You’ve obviously found the best bakery in all of London.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock chuckled, “Might do, if you can prove yourself useful enough,” he teased back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, he’s already said yes,” Rosie pointed out helpfully. “You must be useful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must be,” John replied, chuckling as Sherlock held the door for the two of them to go through. He was quite surprised that he recognized the woman walking out to greet them. “Evelyn!” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Doctor Watson!” she said, giving him a quick hug, “It’s good to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” he corrected, “It’s good to see you too. This is a surprise,” he said, looking around the bakery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it?” she asked as she leaned in and gave Sherlock a hug as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well yeah, the last time we saw you, you were getting ready to head back to culinary school,” he replied, remembering the strange case they’d solved for her parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was almost a decade ago,” she replied with a laugh, “But I knew even then that you two would end up together,” she added with a wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John chuckled, “You and the rest of England.” He turned and saw that Sherlock had taken Rosie’s hand and led her over to the display cases. “That’s Rosie,” he said, pointing to her, “Our daughter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s adorable."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is," he agreed. "A right terror when she wants to be,” he said with a wry shake of his head as they made their way over, “But cute as a button.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evelyn crouched down next to Rosie, “Hi there, I’m Evelyn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” Rosie said, “I’m Rosie Watson Holmes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman smiled and shook Rosie’s hand, “Would you like to help me with some cake baking while your dads sample wedding cakes? I promise I’ll have lots more tasty treats for you,” he added in a stage whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please!” Rosie said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to go through the trouble-” John started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be silly,” Evelyn said, holding out her hand to Rosie. “We are going to get along just fine and that way you two can debate the merits of wedding cakes. Come on, Miss Rosie, let me introduce you to my right hand man. His name is Elliot and I think the two of you are going to get along great.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stepped over to Sherlock and wrapped an arm around his waist as the two of them disappeared from view, “Hey, you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Sherlock replied, pressing a kiss to his temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock gave him a little smile, “Wondering if I’ve slipped into a dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was long overdue,” John replied. “I think papa suits you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled again, that little shy smile that John so loved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before the two of them could get any soppier, Evelyn returned carrying out two small cakes. “Oh, sorry,” she said, “you two can pick a table to sit at,” she said nodding to the other side of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made their way to one and took their coats off before sitting down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” she said, “This one is a chocolate whiskey cake with a salted caramel drizzle. You probably aren’t going to pick it for your wedding cake but it is outrageously delicious, so I wanted you to try it,” she said as she cut two small slices and put them on plates. “The other one you have here is our lemon poppyseed. It’s very popular for summer weddings,” she added as she cut slices of this one for the two of them as well. “We’ve done a twist on this one in the past and taken out the poppy seeds and added in strawberries. Also delicious. I didn’t make it for you today, but I do have one with a strawberry filling so you can get the idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She handed them both forks and poured glasses of water, “Any of the flavors can be combined with other flavors. Don’t feel limited by what I show you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for all of this,” John said. “This looks amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Thank you two. Honestly. Being able to say that I made John Watson and Sherlock Holmes’ wedding cake is going to be amazing for my business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A timer on her apron went off and she glanced down, “Hold that thought. I’ve got to go get some cakes out of the oven. You two enjoy those and I will be back in just a minute with two more options.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was nice,” John said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him as he speared a piece of the lemon and poppyseed cake with his fork. “You knew the extra business would help her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was instrumental in solving that case,” he said primly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would have found that notebook she gave you in another five minutes,” John said with a laugh. “You’re a softie, you can’t hide it from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock huffed, “Are you going to try your cakes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Put your mouth to good use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John smirked at him, “That is not how I’ve ever used that phrase.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s eyes twinkled at him and he was about to say something when there was a scream from the kitchen. “Dr. Watson! Sherlock!” The panic in Evelyn's voice was palpable and it made John’s heart leap to his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was out of his chair in an instant, the chair falling back against the floor as he dashed back toward the kitchen. Sherlock was a step behind him when they made it into the kitchen to see Rosie on the floor, her lips turning almost blue. Everything slowed down in that moment and John’s head cleared, tuning out the chaos around him as he focused on what was important. “Evelyn, call an ambulance. Now,” he said as he knelt down and elevated Rosie’s torso, listening to her gasping and trying to get enough air. “Sherlock, go into my coat and grab out the emergency kit. If you can, get the epi pen, or just bring me the whole thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a heartbeat they started moving as John had directed and he turned back to his daughter. “Rosie,” he said, keeping his voice calm even as some part of his brain started screaming. “It’s alright. You’re alright,” he assured. “I know it’s scary, but just listen to daddy’s voice, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, clenching his little fists tight in his jumper. The wheezing and rattling in her little chest broke his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do your best to take slow breaths, love,” he encouraged. “I know it’s hard but try to breathe with daddy, yes?” He consciously slowed his own breathing and felt Rosie trying to do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re on their way,” Evelyn called as she came closer again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock was at his side a moment later, hands trembling as he held out the Epipen to John. “It’s for adults,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware,” John replied as he took it. “This is going to hurt a little bit, but it will help you breathe better, alright?” he warned Rosie as he popped off the cap. “One, two, three,” he said before jabbing her in the thigh. He heard the click and began counting, for an adult he would have counted slowly to three but Rosie didn’t weigh enough, so he counted instead to two before pulling it out and massaging the spot he’d injected on her thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like an eternity but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before Rosie started gasping air into her lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl,” John said, wanting desperately to clutch her to himself and hold her tight but knowing logically that she needed the space to breathe. “Good girl,” he said again, stroking her hair back off of her face. “You’re alright,” he promised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up to see Sherlock hovering anxiously a few feet away, his own face ashen and hands still shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa,” Rosie croaked, reaching her little hand out to him and John watched as Sherlock crumpled to the ground, tears spilling from his eyes as he grasped her hand and brought it to his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” John said softly, trying to reassure them both. Then he turned to Evelyn, “Can you tell me what she was eating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry-” Evelyn started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shook his head, “You couldn’t have known,” he said, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins helping him to stay calm and rational. “We didn’t even know. Can you just tell me what she ate, a list of the ingredients, so we can try to figure out what caused it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” she said, turning in a panic to look at the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man, Elliot, John remembered, spoke up. “She was eating an orange cranberry scone,” he said. “It has orange juice, orange zest, flour, sugar, heavy cream, butter, salt, vanilla extract, eggs, and cranberries,” he supplied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The cranberries,” Sherlock said, his voice still shaking. “It must have been.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” John said, nodding at him, trying to help soothe him so he could help soothe Rosie. “Hear that, darling? You’ve got an allergy just like Papa,” John told her, keeping his voice calm and cheerful. “He’s allergic to bedbugs and you’re allergic to a disgusting fruit. Neither of you are missing out on anything. What an easy allergy to have,” he added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, the color was returning to her cheeks and John felt like he could breathe easier, too. “Just like papa,” she replied, gazing up at Sherlock with adoration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paramedics arrived as Sherlock choked on a sob and everything was a bit of a blur as they got loaded into the ambulance and driven to the hospital. John held Sherlock’s hand in his on the way as Rosie chatted cheerfully with the paramedics, seemingly completely back to normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned slightly and leaned his forehead against Sherlock’s temple, “She’s alright,” he promised, stroking his thumb over the skin between Sherlock’s thumb and forefinger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure?” Sherlock breathed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure,” John affirmed. “And we’re on our way to the hospital to be double sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because sometimes-” Sherlock started, voice hitching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” John said firmly, grounding him to the moment they were in, “We’re going to a hospital and they will monitor her. I am a doctor, I will monitor her. You are the most observant person on earth, you will monitor her. She is going to be alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhaled shakily and John continued to stroke his thumb along Sherlock’s, “Right,” Sherlock said, nodding once. “You’re right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am,” John replied easily as he looked over at their little extrovert making the paramedics laugh at her terrible cow jokes. “She’s going to be okay,” he murmured, as much to himself as to Sherlock this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they got to the hospital they were immediately taken upstairs to a room on the pediatric floor instead of the emergency room. “This is weird,” John murmured to Sherlock as they stepped off the elevator following behind Rosie’s stretcher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Myc!” she cheered and John looked up in time to see the man’s stunned expression, eyes blinking rapidly. “Daddy, papa! Look!” she exclaimed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations,” Sherlock said with a small smile in Mycroft’s direction, “you’ve been promoted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the sounds of it so have you,” Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither of you have been promoted,” John said as he headed into the room, “Your titles have just been changed to reflect your actual positions.” Then he nodded to the room and said to Mycroft, “Thank you for this, by the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft inclined his head and they were all ushered into the room and Rosie proceeded to tell Mycroft all about what had happened at the bakery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A doctor came in not long after and began running tests and checking Rosie over. John explained what had happened with the epipen, adding, “I think it was the only call I could have made at the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor nodded kindly, “We’ll get a junior epipen prescribed for her today but she seems to be doing just fine. There’s a little bit of residual wheezing that we’ll give about ten minutes longer to clear up, and give her something if it doesn’t. We’ll keep her here for observation but she’s going to be just fine,” he said patting John on the shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the pediatrician left Rosie started talking to Mycroft again, finishing the story that she’d started when they’d come in (that Mycroft had undoubtedly already inferred and heard). He replied in much the way that Sherlock did and John was grateful for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The adrenaline started to seep out of his body and John, quite suddenly, found himself needing to sit down. He reached over and steadied himself on the door frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock and Mycroft both turned to look at him and John tried to wave them off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mycroft cleared his throat, “Why don’t the two of you take a walk? Get yourselves a cup of tea or something,” Mycroft suggested, “Miss Rosamund and I will get along just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked at him and John felt like something was about to snap inside of him. “Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod. “We’ll be back in a minute, alright?” he asked Rosie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded but was already engrossed in telling Mycroft about new drama at nursery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock clasped John’s elbow and John let himself lean against the other man as they headed out of the room and into a family waiting room. John all but collapsed onto one of the chairs and Sherlock sat next to him. He bent forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang down as he tried to take slow deep breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy,” Sherlock murmured, rubbing his hand up and down John’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” John said through gritted teeth, “I don’t know why-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our daughter almost died,” he replied, “You’re allowed to not be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was fine,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you had to be. Because everyone, myself included, was panicking and someone had to be the voice of reason. Because you do what you always do and you saved her life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how did </span>
  <em>
    <span>we </span>
  </em>
  <span>not know? How did this even happen in the first place? We should have-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock knelt on the floor in front of John and stilled the hand he’d been waving. “We couldn’t have known. There was no way we could have known.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s four,” John rasped. “Four years old and we didn’t know she was allergic to a common fruit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because cranberries are disgusting,” Sherlock replied. “We both hate them. We’ve never given them to her because we never buy them. Mrs. Hudson never bakes with them because we don’t like them. My parents don’t like cranberries. She’s never had them so we couldn’t have known.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just-” John’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I’m supposed to protect her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” John said, standing up so suddenly that Sherlock nearly tips over. He took a few steps away and ran his hands over his face, “No. I reacted to a situation instead of preventing it from happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock stood and said, “John, you can’t prevent every bad thing from happening to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t understand,” he hissed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man stilled, “Alright,” he said, his voice very calm. “Explain it to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was his child, she shared his dna, “I made her,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked like John had struck him and John had to replay it in his mind to understand why it had caused that reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, shaking his head and reaching out for Sherlock. “I don’t mean it like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Sherlock said, his hands shaking as he tucked his arms around his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not. Fuck,” John growled. He scrubbed his hands over his face, recognized he was spiraling, “I just,” he swallowed, “I promised her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promised her what?” Sherlock asked, brow furrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I wouldn’t let bad things happen to her. That I’d keep her safe,” he tried to explain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad things happen John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that!” he shouted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock took a small step back and John shattered, covering his face with his hands as everything fell to pieces. It seemed it was only a half a heartbeat before Sherlock was drawing him into his arms and John clung to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he gasped, pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m just...” he trailed off not really knowing what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scared,” Sherlock supplied. “I was terrified earlier and you helped me, you kept me grounded,” he said softly. “Let me be the same for you,” he begged. “Whatever you are thinking or feeling, it’s okay. Just,” he pressed a kiss into John’s hair, “Don’t push me away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he murmured again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be,” Sherlock said, “it’s fine. I'm not going anywhere. Do you want to try to explain what you meant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of Sherlock, of home, and letting his heart slow a bit, “After Mary died I was terrified for her. I felt like no matter what I did she was going to be in danger. Mary’s past is Rosie's past. My past is Rosie's past. She didn't get a choice about who her parents were and what we'd done before she came along. And that was fucking terrifying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock didn’t say anything, he just trailed his fingers up and down John’s spine, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mary and I are seeped into her DNA, there is no escaping that for her. If anyone else from her past came looking, they’d find Rosie. She even has the same bloody name,” John said. “And the truth is that you and I have made more than our fair share of enemies along the way, too, so there’s no escaping that past either; if someone came after us they’d find her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head and continued, “And I know it’s stupid but I promised her,” he forced himself to take a slow breath. “I promised her after Mary died that I wouldn’t let her pay for our sins. That I’d keep her safe. And I failed today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you didn’t,” Sherlock said firmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sherlock interrupted, grabbing John by the shoulders and pulling him back so he could look him in the eye. “It’s my turn to talk now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John huffed but nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t fail. We can’t stop bad things from happening; we don’t get that kind of control or that kind of luxury. We only get to control our response.” He rubbed his hands up and down John’s arms, “I know it was scary,” Sherlock said softly. “It was absolutely terrifying but she is okay because you were there and because you protected her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think Mary was allergic to cranberries?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s brow furrowed, “I don’t know. She never said anything to me about it if she was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran a hand through his hair again, “It’s just that I chose not to know about her, you know? And sometimes I wish that I knew more for Rosie’s sake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t on the flashdrive,” Sherlock said. “If she was allergic to cranberries, or anything for that matter, it wasn’t on there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded once in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, I know everything that was on the flashdrive,” Sherlock started. “I can tell you all of it if you want or you can trust me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I trust you,” John said fiercely because he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sherlock soothed, “Let me finish. I was going to say, you can trust me to tell you if or when anything relevant comes up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. He didn’t want to know. Really and truly, he did not want to know about Mary’s past. It’s not that he thought that what he found there could make him hate her, it was just that he didn’t want to take up any more room in his brain and memory with her; there were so many important things to think about now. “Does it help?” he asked. “Knowing more about her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock shrugged, “It’s all just data. It helps that I knew who to start keeping tabs on in case they decided to come after us. It helped to know everything after she died to know that it wasn’t all my fault, that she wasn’t an innocent person dying to save me. It helped me to dig into who her birth parents were so that I could learn about their medical histories for Rosie’s sake; history of lung cancer, by the way, so we should never let her smoke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shaky laugh bubbled up past John’s lips, “As if that was ever on the table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it didn’t change a thing about how I love Rosie,” Sherlock continued. “And I am happy to do this part. Happy to let Mycroft and my homeless network help me with watching for any suspicious movement on her old enemy list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I think about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “You did everything right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John let the tension release from his shoulders, let Sherlock’s words take root in his soul, let his absolution clear his conscience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good father,” he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and drew him in close, “you are too, Sherlock Holmes. And a damn good partner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel the same, you know,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s the key to it, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is?” Sherlock murmured, lips pressed against John’s hair in a way that made John’s heart ache with love and tenderness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only one of us is allowed to panic at a time,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock huffed a soft laugh, “Alright,” he agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should get back,” John said, leaning in closer and pressing his nose into Sherlock’s neck, breathing him in again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft’s got it,” Sherlock said, holding him a little tighter. “We can actually go and get some tea first. He’ll call us if we’re needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It takes a village,” John replied with a chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s got a soft spot for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d noticed,” John said, pressing a quick kiss to Sherlock’s neck and drawing away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiled at him, soft and sweet, and John reached over to take his hand. “Let’s go get some tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d gotten tea for Mycroft as well and gone back to Rosie’s room and everything was fine. Rosie was released eight hours later, a junior epipen now living next to Sherlock’s in the kit John always had in his jacket pocket. And if John and Sherlock brought Rosie in to sleep in their bed that night because (even though highly unlikely) it was possible for her to have another reaction, well none of them minded having a sleepover that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>--------------</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few days later the three of them were in the kitchen, John trying to get Sherlock and Rosie to clean up their experiment on the viscosity of various paint brands, Rosie chimed in, “But daddy, it’s science! We can’t move it. It will skewer the results.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skew,” Sherlock corrected patiently, “skewer is when you-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell rang and Rosie jumped off of her stool, “Client!” she shouted, experiment all but forgotten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shook his head, “This is all you,” he said, drawing a circle with his finger encompassing all of the beautiful mess that made up their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiled smugly, “Don’t pretend that you’re not exactly the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heavy footfall on the stairs interrupted John's, “Ooh,” Sherlock said, tilting his head to the side like a basset hound pup. “Not a client.” Curiously, John followed Sherlock and Rosie to the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evelyn!” Rosie cheered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” she said, peaking around the cases in her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here let us help,” Sherlock said, meeting her part of the way and handing some of the cases up to John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a surprise,” John called. Then, “Rosie, go clean up the table. You can start the experiment again later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Rosie said, her experiment purity apparently forgotten at the moment in light of the cake they were about to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Rosie,” Evelyn said as she entered the flat behind John and Sherlock, “Since I promised you that you could help fill eclairs at the bakery, I brought some here for you to help Mrs. Hudson with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should have known that you were in league with Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said with a chuckle as they set the cakes down on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Rosie,” John said, giving her a kiss on the top of the head, “Why don’t you head down to Nana Hudson’s to help with those eclairs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” she enthused and gave Evelyn a quick wave before heading off downstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have to do all this,” John said, gesturing to the cake boxes spread out on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be silly,” she said, shaking her head as she started opening one of the boxes. “It was the least I could do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t blame you,” Sherlock said, reaching out to touch her shoulder for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she said. “But still, this was easy enough to just bring over and Tessa and Elliot will manage the store while I’m gone.” She looked around for a minute, “Why don’t you two sit at the desk out there and I’ll bring everything out to you a piece or two at a time? I promise not to eavesdrop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed, “We wouldn’t mind if you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock poured a couple of glasses of water from the tap before following John to the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, she came out carrying four slices of cake, “Alright, let’s try this again. Chocolate whiskey cake with a salted caramel drizzle and a lemon poppyseed cake. There were the ones I brought out first last time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. I’m very much looking forward to the chocolate whiskey cake,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoy,” she said with a wink as she headed back to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Sherlock asked, giving John one of those heart-stoppingly innocent smiles that said he was finding joy in John’s joy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready,” John agreed, deciding not to waste another minute. He cut into the chocolate whiskey cake and popped a bite into his mouth. The cake was rich and moist, the salted caramel sweet and gooey, and the whiskey gave it just enough to keep it from being too sweet. He moaned around his mouthful of cake. “This one,” he said immediately. “Sherlock,” he groaned as he put another bite in his mouth, “I want to eat this cake every single day for the rest of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the first one you’ve tried,” Sherlock said, attempting to hide his smile at John’s love of this cake and failing dismally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care,” John replied, licking the chocolate and caramel off the spoon. “It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the lemon poppyseed is quite good,” Sherlock commented, offering a piece on his own fork to John for him to taste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a little smile John leaned closer and ate the piece off of his fork. He nodded as he swallowed, “It’s good,” he started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t like poppy seeds,” Sherlock finished. “How did I not know that about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged, “Why would you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been ten years, John. Surely I, the most observant man on earth, should have noticed by now that you don’t like poppy seeds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Poppy seeds aren’t in very many things,” he said reasonably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still,” Sherlock replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think of the chocolate whiskey cake?” John asked, shifting subjects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a bit rich, don’t you think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John frowned, “Personally, no. But I could see where other people might think it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you what,” Sherlock bargained, leaning over to kiss John once on the lips, “I promise to order it for your next birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. This is why I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’ll order you your favorite cake for your birthday?” Sherlock teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you care about what I like,” John replied, thinking of his first wedding where his opinions on the food, the wine, and worst of all the cake, had been heard then brushed away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” Sherlock started, frowning and obviously reading exactly what John had meant in those words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he murmured, “Don’t worry about it. This is a happy day, yeah? And you’re right about this one being too much for our guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sod the guests,” Sherlock said. “We-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” John said again. “But let's try the others. Okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Sherlock replied with a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John snatched a bit of Sherlock’s chocolate whiskey cake from his plate and ate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw that,” Evelyn called. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that part of the vows?” John asked innocently, “What’s his is mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed and set the next two options down, “What did you think?” she asked as she shifted their other plates to the side to give them enough room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John doesn’t like the poppyseeds and I think that the chocolate whiskey cake is a bit much,” Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair,” she replied, obviously not offended in the slightest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the chocolate whiskey cake is outstanding,” John added. “If I was the only one in attendance I would order a giant one, just for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock drawled, “His birthday is August 7th. We’ll definitely be needing one of those cakes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pencil it in,” she said with a laugh. She set four more slices of cake on the table, “This one’s a Neapolitan; chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla; it’s not my favorite but I think it looks pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does,” Sherlock affirmed and John had to agree as he admired the piping swirls decorating the cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this one’s a red velvet with cream cheese frosting,” she said, setting two more plates in front of them, showing off a luscious red two layer cake. “Obviously it would be more layers for the wedding.” She refilled their water glasses, “I’m going to go get the next two ready and leave you to try these ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John started with the Neapolitan, “It’s good but it’s not spectacular,” he said, picking at a bit of the strawberry jam with his fork. “This is fantastic, though,” he said, tasting just the strawberry filling, “I would not be opposed to having cake with this filling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock laughed, “You and strawberry jam. You are as predictable as clockwork.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, you,” John replied before taking a bite of the red velvet cake.” “Mmm,” he hummed, “This is really tasty. Nice and moist. I always like red velvet cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just chocolate cake,” Sherlock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He took another bite, “It tastes red and delicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled and popped another bite of cake into his mouth, “You love me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Sherlock affirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John grinned at him, “I like her cream cheese frosting. It’s nice and light.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he agreed. “Red velvet is good for a winter wedding. Especially in December.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s true,” he said with a nod, “And the inside would match our color scheme.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed, “Not quite. This red is much brighter than our garnet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean,” John huffed, leaning over and kissing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, you two,” Evelyn said as she emerged. “This one’s an almond cake with Italian pear cream filling.” She sliced two pieces, “I haven’t gotten the filling quite right yet, it’s still a bit too wet but if you like it, I’ll have it worked out by then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s anything like the others, I’m sure it’s fantastic,” John assured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sweet of you to say,” she replied with a smile. “And this one is a coconut cake with pineapple curd. Very tropical but I live in hopes that someone will have a destination wedding and want this cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds delicious,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s one more after this, I’ll bring it out in a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John cut into the almond cake first and took a bite, “Mmm, very moist,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded, “It’s not the most structurally sound for a wedding cake, though, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” John agreed. “It is tasty, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very,” Sherlock replied. “Try the other. It tastes like our honeymoon,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John smiled and took a bite, “This curd is amazing,” he said, scraping a bit from between the layers of cake. “That’s what I don’t like about pineapple, the stringy bits; but this is just the essence of pineapple without the disgusting part.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad you approve,” Evelyn said, making John jump slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously,” he said, pointing to the cake. “How did you do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A strainer,” she replied. “Anyway, here is the last one. It’s a champagne cake with a raspberry buttercream.” She slid a piece in front of each of them, “Don’t forget any of the flavors are interchangeable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sherlock said, giving her a warm smile. “This has been outstanding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed them," she said with a big grin at the two of them. "I’ll give you a little while to go back through and decide. Obviously, if you want more you can help yourself. I’m going to go see how Rosie and Mrs. Hudson are doing with those eclairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like fun,” John commented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree,” she said as she made her way toward the stairs, adding “I can’t imagine how Rosie is such an angel when she’s got the two of you as her dads,” with a wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed before turning back to the plate, </span>
  <span>“Champagne and raspberry,” John said, "I've never had champagne cake before."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Neither have I," Sherlock said, but if it's anything like the others I'm sure it will be delicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No doubt," John agreed, digging in to the piece of cake in front of him. “Ohh,” he groaned around a mouthful. “This one is fantastic. Soft and tender,” he groaned, “Moist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s an awful word,” Sherlock said with an exaggerated shudder. “And you have said it about far too many of these delicious cakes. Choose a different descriptor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed, “I didn’t realize I was marrying one of those people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of what people?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People who have word aversions,” he replied as he scooped up another bite of cake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock rolled his eyes, “It’s very common.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much did it hurt you to say that?” John teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat your cake,” Sherlock huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could I possibly say no to that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock grinned at him, “You couldn’t. You love cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do love cake,” John replied with a happy sigh as he took another bite of the piece of the chocolate whiskey cake that Sherlock had left sitting off to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can have that one,” Sherlock said again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shook his head, “You don’t even want this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, but no thank you,” John said before he could say anything else. “I think we should go with the champagne cake. It’s delicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it does seem like the perfect flavor for a wedding celebration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too right,” John replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued chatting as they nibbled at the cakes on the table until Evelyn returned. “What are you thinking?” she asked, still perhaps a touch nervously in spite of their compliments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could we do the champagne cake with the strawberry filling instead of the raspberry?” Sherlock asked. “John is partial to strawberries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” she said nodding, and writing a note down on her notepad. “Did you want to just do one type of cake with multiple tiers? Or did you want divided tiers that are different flavors on each tier?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other, “What do you think?” Sherlock asked. “Do you want to do the red velvet, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John said, nodding. “Yeah, the red velvet is really good, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many tiers are you thinking?” she asked as she wrote more notes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My research indicated three, if you’re expecting around 50 guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, “Perfect. That’s what I’d been imagining when I started sketching. Let me show you some of the concepts.” Evelyn pulled up a chair next to them and laid her sketchbook where she’d been taking notes on the table. “Although, Rosie did have some very clever ideas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She thought perhaps some unicorns and rainbows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Sherlock deadpanned, “She thinks we’re that kind of gay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John spluttered out a laugh because it was such an unexpected thing for him to say.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I wouldn’t judge you if you were, but you didn’t give me that sort of vibe so I did some different concepts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see those,” John said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, so I started by thinking about winter weddings and what the winter looks like when it comes to the two of you, so the bottom tier that I imagined is frosted like a cable knit jumper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock said instantly. “That is perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sentiment,” John teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evelyn laughed, “Here’s a photo of the last one I frosted like that for reference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s adorable,” John gushed, because it was. The texture, the lovely cream colour, he was enamored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is perfect,” Sherlock agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled, obviously pleased and turned the page, “The bottom layer would make most sense as the champagne cake, then the second layer we would do a classic red velvet, with the crumbs smoothed into the sides and top to give it that beautiful red pop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know we’d pick the red velvet?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re having a December wedding,” she retorted. “It was a lucky guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiled, “You’re so clever. That’s why we knew you’d be the perfect fit for our cake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too right,” John replied. “Let’s hear about the last layer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the last one I was imagining sort of a natural cake, then with some edible gold paint around the outside. Have you decided on toppers? I could go with some frosted strawberries, or we could do the cute little groom toppers, or a Mr. and Mr. topper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could we have one with Rosie on it, too?” Sherlock asked and John thought his heart might burst with love and affection for the other man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Evelyn said with a smile. “Yeah, of course we can.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John didn’t really hear anything that happened after that. He was sure that he just sat at the table looking like a complete loon with his heart in his eyes as he looked at the love of his life across the table from him and couldn’t quite believe that they’d made it to this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Evelyn said, making a final note in her sketch pad, “I think that’s it. I’m going to leave the rest of the sample cakes here for you. Invite a few friends over for dinner or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” John said, managing to tear his eyes from Sherlock. “Seriously, Evenlyn, this has been fantastic and I am so happy for your success.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my pleasure,” she said sincerely. “Truly. I wish you both the absolute best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Sherlock said, his hand snaking across the table to hold John’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled at them once more before heading off to the kitchen to collect her things. Sherlock drew John’s hand over and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of John’s mouth tipped up at the gesture. “Hey,” he said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked back at him and raised an eyebrow in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?” Sherlock asked, surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This,” John said, gesturing to the cakes. “For being willing to make our guests eat chocolate whiskey cake just to make me happy.” He shrugged, “For caring about my opinion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours is literally the only opinion I care about,” Sherlock replied seriously, as though that wasn’t an extraordinary thing to say at all. “In pretty much everything,” he added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Sherlock asked, sounding perplexed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always say things like that, like they’re just forgone conclusions. The most obvious thing in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because they are,” Sherlock said, nudging the piece of chocolate whiskey cake that John was intent on finishing across the table toward him. “Because you’re my favorite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” John asked, licking a drizzle of caramel off his lower lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Favorite what?” John asked, grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Favorite period,” Sherlock replied. “Favorite everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re adorable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s nose wrinkled and he leaned back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” John said with a laugh. “You are!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head then looked out at the kitchen. John followed his gaze to see all of the partially eaten cakes sitting on their table. “Do you want to invite Mycroft and Greg over for cake?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See!” he said. “Adorable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock groaned, “Lemon poppyseed is one of Mycroft’s favorites and if someone else does not come to eat it, I will have to eat the whole thing. And between mummy telling me I’m not as young as I once was and Mrs. Hudson rationing my biscuit intake I simply cannot allow myself to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are sweet and adorable. You’re not fooling me,” John murmured as he stood up, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s temple before starting to collect the plates that they’d eaten everything off of. “Do you want to know why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock huffed, “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you are my favorite, too.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's the end of this one, lovies. I hope to see you again soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No real trigger warnings for this one, loves. There is a bigoted arsehole but he doesn't actually say anything unkind out loud (Sherlock just deduces) and John puts him in his place. </p><p>I honestly don't know if there are fairs like this in London, but I was too lazy to do the research so here we are. </p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was a stupid fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock didn’t regret it the moment that John walked out, slamming the door behind him after telling Sherlock he needed some time. But it was a near thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, it took all of five minutes before Sherlock was kicking himself, recognizing what a stupid thing a Wedding Playlist was to fight over. There shouldn’t even be any fighting, he thought miserably to himself, they should just both be able to veto any song they don’t like and that should be the end of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes after John left, Sherlock caved and sent a text. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry. Come back home. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then, learning from Rosie's add-ons, he rapidly sent a second, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched the dots appear, then disappear, then reappear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soon. Don’t freak out. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Not freaking out simply wasn't an option. Not for Sherlock. Not when John was mad at him. It was another 45 minutes before the door downstairs opened and Sherlock had completely worked himself up into an anxious panic. He wasn’t sure what he meant to say but whatever it was, John spoke up first when he got into the living room, “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” he started. “About what I said, you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he interrupted, holding out a hand to Sherlock. “No more talk about the wedding. Put your phone down on the table,” he said as he wiggled his fingers at Sherlock, waiting for him to take his hand. “Leave it here, I’ve asked everyone not to text or call me unless it’s an emergency, and I promise I won’t use it to get on the internet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, what-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” John said softly. “Just. Let’s have a day, yeah? Let’s just the two of us go and have some time to not be getting married, to not be working, to not be fighting, to not be planning our wedding or Harry’s wedding. Let’s just go be us and remember what matters.” John stepped closer, drawing Sherlock near to him, “Rosie’s at nursery until 4:00, we have the whole day. And I know we were supposed to be wedding planning, but I miss you,” he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock leaned his forehead against John’s, “It was a stupid fight. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” John said. “So let’s just have the day, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Sherlock said, “What did you have in mind?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John drew back and gave him a smile, “It’s a surprise. No deducing, as much as you are able.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock quirked a grin at him, “Well, by all means, lead the way, Captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A weight seemed to lift off John’s shoulders and he smiled at Sherlock. Sliding his hand down Sherlock’s arm, he grasped his hand and gave him a little tug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led Sherlock down the stairs and out the door into the lovely summer day. John opened the passenger door to a black suv and gestured for Sherlock to get in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I left and walked, I walked right past a car rental and rented a car,” he said with a shrug. “Hold that thought,” he added as he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long are we keeping the car?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just until tomorrow. And we’ll be on time to pick up Rosie.” He slipped on a pair of aviators and something warmed in Sherlock’s chest at the sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look-” Sherlock started before trailing off. He didn’t quite know what to say to finish that sentence. John looked comfortable in his own skin, happy and relaxed in his polo and jeans; he made something ache in Sherlock's chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” John prompted, looking at him over the top of his sunglasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock shrugged, “I don’t know. You look like summer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pleased grin tipped up the corners of John’s mouth and he leaned across the console to kiss Sherlock and Sherlock eagerly responded, glad to be kissing, glad not to be fighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” John murmured, drawing back and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair so that Sherlock could see his eyes, “No matter what, I’m in this with you, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John cupped his cheek, “I mean it, Sherlock. You are my priority. I am in this with you, even when we fight, even when I’m mad. No matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed, “okay,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded, “okay.” He pecked Sherlock on the lips once more before pulling down his sunglasses and facing the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled out into traffic and Sherlock rested his head back against the headrest, staring up through the sunroof and letting his mind wander. After a few minutes, John reached over and took his hand in his, brushing his thumb along the skin between Sherlock’s thumb and forefinger and Sherlock exhaled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” John murmured, as though the sigh had felt as good to him as it had to Sherlock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John drove and Sherlock actually drifted off to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the next thing he knew, John was stroking his curls back from his face. “Hey,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Sherlock replied, blinking at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright,” John said, voice warm and fond, “you’ve been running yourself ragged these past few weeks.” He gave his hand a squeeze, “We’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked out through the windshield, “Where is here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” John said, a huge smile still intact, “I’ll show you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went up to a door to a shop called Fluffy Puffies and John entered, tugging Sherlock in behind him. It was an animal shelter as far as Sherlock could tell and he couldn’t help but wonder what on earth was happening. As much as Sherlock had, on occasion, wished for a dog, now hardly seemed like the time to adopt one. “John, what-” he started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But John had stepped up to the counter and was greeting the woman behind it. “Hello, my name is John Watson. I called a little while ago about your program that lets you borrow dogs for a few hours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. way.” The girl behind the counter looked back and forth between John and Sherlock then called, “Hazel! You are not going to believe this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another girl came hurrying out from the back, “What? What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” she said, nodding toward Sherlock and John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other girl, Hazel, looked over and her eyes widened. “John Watson?” she said. “You called earlier but I thought it couldn’t be,” she trailed off. “Wow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ahm,” John said, still smiling valiantly. “Yes. It’s me,” he said, “us. Just wanting to take a dog to the park for a few hours to play.” Sherlock couldn’t help but smile at the idea, that did sound like a lot of fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” the girl behind the desk said. “Right, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” John assured quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hazel looks over at the other girl, “I was thinking Maisie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go and get her ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning back to the two of them, Hazel asked, “So what brought the two of you way out here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We wanted a day off,” John said. “What better way to relax than playing with a dog, right?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock knew for a fact that this John would not have agreed with that question. John didn’t dislike dogs, per say, but he didn’t really like them, either. This, Sherlock knew, was an activity entirely for his benefit. He loved John impossibly more but before he could say anything, the other girl returned walking out a gorgeous, friendly looking weimaraner mix who wagged her tail and trotted directly over to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello there, beautiful girl,” Sherlock murmured to her, squatting down to look her in the eyes, stroking both sides of her face with his thumbs. “Aren’t you lovely?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knocked into him, almost tipping him off his feet and Sherlock was completely besotted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up to see that John was filling out some paperwork and nodding along as the girl behind the counter told him their different rules. Sherlock tuned her out in favor of giving Maisie belly rubs as she rolled over on her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got her until 2:00pm. You’re welcome to drop her off early if you’d like and if you need a little more time just phone us,” Hazel said. “Enjoy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” John asked and Sherlock looked up to see John grinning down at him with such unbearable fondness that Sherlock wasn’t sure he could take it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock said, standing up and taking Maisie’s leash in his hand. John took the bag off the counter that presumably contained treats, toys, and a water bowl for Maisie and, after thanking the girls, they headed out of the shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John made his way over to the car and grabbed a backpack out of the boot. “There’s a park not too far from here,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you plan all of this?” Sherlock asked. “This seemed like you couldn’t have possibly managed all of this just this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After shutting the boot and ensuring that it locked, John looked over at Sherlock. “Well, I’ve been meaning to get the two of us away for a day for a little while.” He nodded toward the sidewalk and started off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Maisie,” Sherlock said, giving her a gentle tug to get her moving with them. She trotted along beside him, heeling like she’d been trained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been stressed and I’ve been stressed,” John continued, “And it’s just felt like the tension has been rising and rising so I decided that the next time the two of us got into a fight I was going to take us away for the day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned the corner to a large park and John continued inward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what made you think of the dog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly?” John asked, turning to look at Sherlock again, “remember when we went to that florist last week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock replied, reaching down to stroke Maisie’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seemed like when you were holding her little dog you were the happiest you’d been in weeks.” He started off again and Sherlock followed, “So I started looking for places you could go to just play with dogs for a while and this one came up. Just don’t fall in love with her because we really cannot have a dog right now,” he added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might be a bit late for that,” Sherlock replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” John started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just kidding,” he hastened to add. “Mostly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stopped under a tree and knelt down to open up the bags, “We can talk about it again after the wedding,” he offered. “Rosie would probably like to have a dog. It’s just too much right now,” he said, giving Maisie a pat on the head. “Here,” he said, handing him a ball, “You play fetch with her while I get our picnic set out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Picnic?” Sherlock asked as he accepted the ball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Might’ve had a little help getting everything together,” John said with a wink. “Now go play with her while I get this ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grin, he unclipped her leash and showed her the ball, “Ready?” he asked her. “Fetch!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched with a wide smile as she tore off through the grass, chasing the ball, before turning around and racing back to him so he could throw it for her again. Sherlock held his hand over his eyes so he could watch her, after a moment he felt a tap on his shoulder, “Here,” John said, holding out a pair of sunglasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Sherlock said with a smile, leaning in to press a kiss to John’s lips. John cupped Sherlock’s neck, stroking his thumb along the tendon while he kissed him. He probably would have kept right on kissing John for the foreseeable future, but he felt a wet nose nudging a ball into his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew back, smiling at John before grabbing the ball and throwing it as far as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you happy?” John asked, voice soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock turned to look at him, “Yes,” he said with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” John said before turning back to the backpack and lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock returned his attention to Maisie and the game of fetch they were playing.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take John too long to get everything set up for their lunch, “Sherlock,” he called, “Bring Maisie over for a drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maisie didn’t seem especially interested in anything other than playing more fetch, but Sherlock called her over to the bowl of water that John had poured next to the picnic blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took in the lovely spread of meats, cheeses, and breads; green grapes (Sherlock’s favorites); the chocolate covered strawberries that John still had resting over ice; the bottle of champagne he’d just uncorked and was pouring into clear plastic cups. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maisie, no,” John said and Sherlock looked over to see that she was edging toward the meat he'd laid out. “Down,” he commanded and she obeyed. “Good girl,” he said, reaching into the bag that the shelter had given and pulling out a bone for her to chew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She seems to be fairly well trained,” Sherlock commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded, “They told us that at the shelter but you were too busy being besotted to notice,” he teased. Then he added, “We still can’t keep her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has too much energy for our life style anyway,” Sherlock conceded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a little smile he handed Sherlock a glass of champagne and clicked the rim of his to Sherlock’s, “to you, my love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And to you,” Sherlock replied as he took a sip. “This looks delicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” John nodded, “We can thank Mycroft for this, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sighed as he sat down and plucked a grape from the bowl, “I blame you for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well good,” John replied as he popped a piece of cheese in his mouth, “I had to work rather hard at organizing this and making sure it would surprise you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant this newfound friendly relationship with Mycroft. Undoubtedly he feels like he owes you for having Lestrade join us for Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged, spreading a bit of cheese on the bread. “Or maybe he’s just decided that it’s not worth the two of you being petty anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we really getting that old?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man laughed and shook his head, “Yes, it’s ghastly when your archenemy has become the friend that he’s likely always wanted to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You underestimate him,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shrugged, “Maybe. But for now, I’m just grateful for a lovely lunch that I didn’t have to prepare, in a beautiful place, with a gorgeous companion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Maisie is quite lovely, isn’t she?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed and chucked a grape at Sherlock, “I meant you, you berk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sherlock replied, leaning forward to catch John’s lips in his. “Thank you. I appreciate you making the effort to plan this. It feels like we’re in a different world than we were this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” John said with a pleased little smile. “Now, eat your lunch. That bone isn’t going to last her forever and I don’t want her eating our prosciutto.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, Maisie did get a piece or two of prosciutto from Sherlock and John shook his head but smiled indulgently at him and a weight that Sherlock hadn’t realized was settled on his chest lifted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The afternoon passed in a similar fashion, the two of them taking turns throwing the ball for Maisie to chase while they talked and teased each other. By the time two in the afternoon rolled around, they were both relaxed and happy, and Maisie seemed to be tired out if her happy wagging and tongue lolling were any indication. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked her back to Fluffy Puffies and gave her a fond farewell, John wrote a little review for them to post about her and they posed for a picture that they could put on their website, as well. Sherlock wasn’t as thrilled about this part but John didn’t seem to mind and he reminded Sherlock that he was glad to help if it meant that Maisie or any of the other dogs could get adopted sooner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock had imagined that after they picked up Rosie they’d head back to Baker Street for the night. He was not expecting John to pull back out into traffic and head the opposite way from home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” he and Rosie asked at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a surprise,” John replied with a giddy little smile that Sherlock was fairly certain he was addicted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiled back, “Tell us about your day, bee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie did, telling them all about the drama at nursery, about Timmy whom she’d threatened to punch if he didn’t stop pulling her hair, and about Laura and Matt who’d traded treats from their lunch boxes with her. She told them about her lessons and about the crafts they’d done that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually they lapsed into comfortable silence and it wasn’t too long before John was taking an exit and they were pulling up behind a line of cars leading to a fair. It had been ages since Sherlock had been to a fair (not counting the time they ended up at one for a case; they hadn’t been able to enjoy themselves at all). And Rosie was a great age for a fair with them, she was sure to enjoy all of the oddities and the animal barns, and probably a few of the rides, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced over to see that John was grinning as he pulled into a parking spot, obviously quite pleased with himself as Rosie ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the lights on the rides and all of the things around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John slid the gearshift into park and then turned around to look at his daughter. “Rosie, eyes on me for a moment,” he paused and when her eyes met his John said seriously, “I need you to promise me that you’ll keep hold of either my hand or papa’s hand the entire time. No wandering or exploring without us. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded solemnly, “Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. And what do you do if you somehow accidentally get separated from us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I stay where I am unless I see a police officer who can help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, “You remember our phone numbers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good girl,” John said. Then he nodded once, “Alright, you two. Let’s go enjoy the fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock had always liked fairs (who didn’t?) and he’d always wanted to go as part of a couple, which maybe sounded a little silly but he could be honest about it, if only to himself. He took Rosie’s hand once they were out of the car and John took her other hand and John said, “What do you say we start at the animal barns?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Rosie cheered, already tugging them toward the animals. They spent a good amount of time wandering through and looking at the different animals, Rosie was particularly besotted with the little ducklings and their waterslide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they made it out all three of them were quite hungry and so they made their way over to the food tents. “What are you in the mood for?” John asked, swinging Sherlock’s hand in his since Sherlock had ended up in the middle between John and Rosie this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funnel cake,” he replied, imagining the taste of the hot, sugary, doughy bread that he hadn’t had in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s a funnel cake?” Rosie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have some after dinner,” John told her with a laugh, shaking his head at Sherlock. “What do you guys think? Hotdogs or tacos?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tacos,” Rosie replied immediately and Sherlock agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded, “Tacos it is,” he replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they finished their tacos they decided to go on some rides before they had the funnel cake. They went on the Ferris wheel and Rosie was captivated by the view when they were finally the ones to stop at the very top. Sherlock couldn’t blame her, the view was stunning; the sun was starting to set, painting the hills in red and gold when you looked to the right and on the left were all of the lights from the other rides at the fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John caught his eye over Rosie’s head while she was talking and mouthed ‘I love you’ at him and Sherlock could scarcely remember a moment ever feeling quite as perfect as this one did. John handed Sherlock his phone, "You have longer arms," he said by way of explanation. "Take a picture of the three of us." So Sherlock did as instructed, capturing their three smiling faces at the top of the Ferris wheel with the lights from the fair in the background. When John got his phone back, he inspected the picture and nodded, "That's a keeper."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rode on the Merry-Go-Round together after that, and it was delightful. Sherlock hadn’t ridden on a Merry-Go-Round in literal decades and the sheer enjoyment, the feeling of lightness, of freedom had made him laugh. Which had set Rosie to giggling helplessly beside him and then John, his eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that filled Sherlock’s chest with joy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d gone to play a few carnival games after that. Rosie had very nearly won a goldfish with a ping pong ball toss and John and Sherlock both breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t quite manage to get the little plastic ball into one of the fish bowls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they were on their way down the midway, Rosie delightedly enjoying some candy floss, they came across a booth where you had to use a gun to shoot a balloon and win a prize; if three of your five shots landed you got to pick a large stuffed animal. John’s eyes lit up with mischief and he said, “Do you think we ought to give it a go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock laughed and nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man at the booth looked the both of them up and down, then at Rosie, and made the obvious deduction that they were a family and gave them a faint sneer. It immediately had Sherlock’s hackles rising but before he could say anything John said. “I bet I can get all five shots, from five meters back, whichever balloons you pick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” the man replied, obviously trying to hold back from rolling his eyes, and obviously doubting John’s claim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet I can do it with one hand behind my back, standing on one foot. I’ll even let you choose the hand and foot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I can do what I just claimed, I want two of the big toys,” John said. “If I can’t, we’ll leave your booth with no prizes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m certain you can’t do that, so that’s a bet I’m willing to take,” the man replied and if his rudeness bothered John, he didn’t show it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John stepped forward and gave the man his money and accepted the handgun from him. He stepped back several paces until he was five meters away and the man came out from behind his booth to block traffic from one direction while Sherlock blocked it from the other. “Which hand?” John asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your right,” the man replied, “I saw you take the gun with your left hand. I’m not stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock valiantly held back a snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right hand it is,” John said, switching hands. “Which foot?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done,” John said, balancing on one foot. “I’ll even let you change your mind in a minute,” he added with a wink. “Which balloon first?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fourth row down, third balloon from the left. The green one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock watched, enraptured as John raised his arm, exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger. The balloon popped satisfyingly, Rosie cheered, and John looked over at the man. “That’s one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a lucky shot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rather was, wasn’t it?” John said with a smile. He was enjoying this and Sherlock found a great deal of vindictive glee in that fact. “Did you want me to switch hands? Switch feet? Kneel on the ground?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Switch your feet,” the man grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John did. “Which balloon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Top row, all the way on the left. The orange one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh,” John said, adjusting his body. “Tricky,” he commented, “but I still think I can manage,” he added with a second wink at the man. This time there was barely a pause between John turning his head and firing off a shot and striking down the balloon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie cheered again and John turned to smile at the man once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Left foot, left hand,” he grunted, glowering at John as though John had tricked him. Which, in fairness, Sherlock supposed he had. “Third row, eighth in from the right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making me count,” John said as he fired off a shot and eviscerated the balloon. He was comfortable with the gun now. Confident. Cocky. It was ridiculously hot. “I am left-handed, you were right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Switch hands,” the man said again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John did, “Want me to close one eye as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bottom row, tenth from the left.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not going to give me a color?” his fiance teased and Sherlock genuinely could have kissed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John shot that one easily and turned to the man. “Four for four and I have a confession. I was in her majesty’s service and I’m an excellent marksman, bit of a trick, bit unfair of me. So,” John said conspiratorially, “I’ll make you one final offer. Tell me which balloon you want me to shoot, which hand you want me to shoot it with, and I will let you blindfold me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show off,” Sherlock called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John raised an eyebrow at him then turned to the man, gave him a smirk, and added, “And you can spin me around three times while I’m blindfolded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is no way,” the man replied stoutly. “Absolutely none.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” John said, “But if I do it we want two of the big prizes </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> you apologize to my fiance for all of the mean, homophobic thoughts in that head of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man’s eyes narrowed, “and what do I get if I’m right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John appeared to give this some thought, “One hundred quid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy!” Rosie gasped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make it two hundred and you’ve got a deal,” the man said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John glanced at Sherlock and then shrugged, “Two hundred.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fourth row down, third from the left,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, John took aim, lining the gun up and centering himself in his body. “Alright,” he said, nodding once. “Blindfold?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man pulled out a bandanna from the booth and secured it around John’s eyes himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” John said once it was tied in place. “Give me three spins, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> With a malicious little grin, the man spun John in three rapid circles and stopped him just a little too early, leaving John not quite lined up the way he’d been before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John held up the gun then tilted his head, “I’ve a very keen sense of direction,” he said. “I had to when I was in the bloody desert.” He turned a bit until he was facing the wall of balloons straight on. “I think this is a little better.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man frowned at him but John obviously couldn’t see him and Sherlock was so taken by the way John was carrying himself that he couldn’t rustle up a response either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lifting the gun, Sherlock watched as John took careful aim, breathing in once then twice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Switch arms,” the man called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not fair!” Rosie shouted, stomping her foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Ro,” John replied, switching hands. “Should I stand on one foot again as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded once and did as he was bid, then he re-centered himself; taking a slow, deep breath and pulling the trigger as he exhaled. The gun fired and Sherlock would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little surprised that it hit the right balloon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie cheered, jumping up and down next to Sherlock, as John pulled off the bandanna with a grin. “We will take that adorable floppy cow and the chunky bumblebee. And my fiance will take that apology.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man glowered and moved to fetch the toys down for them, handing them both to John so John could hand the cow to Rosie and the bumblebee to a very surprised Sherlock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” the man grunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My teacher says that when you apologize you have to say the person’s name, what you’re apologizing for, and you have to look them in the eye,” Rosie said without looking away from the cow she was petting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John grinned, eyes dancing with mirth, “His name is Sherlock,” he added helpfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man rolled his eyes, but a crowd was starting to form and he didn’t seem willing to cause more of a scene. “Sorry, Sherlock, for thinking unkind things about you and your kind.” he spat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apology accepted. Thank you for my bee,” Sherlock replied, feeling like he'd won the lottery rather than a stuffed bee, and John grinned at him, taking his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was fun,” John called over his shoulder as he gave Sherlock’s hand a little tug and took Rosie’s with his other hand, “You shouldn’t make assumptions about people, never know when you’ll run into someone who the army tried to recruit as a sniper. Have a nice day,” he added with another little wink before tugging Sherlock and Rosie along with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was really cool, daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock laughed, “Hold onto that while you can,” he said. “Your days of being cool in the eyes of your daughter are severely limited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John laughed, “And your’s aren’t?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Sherlock replied with a sniff. “I am obviously the cool parent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re not the parent who can shoot a gun,” Rosie said and John laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can shoot a gun. Thank you very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But not like daddy,” she replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock bumped John with his shoulder, “No, not like daddy. That was a particularly impressive shot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was an old game we used to play,” John said. “I’ve had lots of practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I’m big, I’m going to learn how to shoot like that,” Rosie said, hugging her cow as they headed toward more rides and food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed, “With your genetics, I don’t doubt it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With who her parents are, I don’t doubt it,” John corrected, nudging Sherlock’s thigh with his knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be smart like papa and good at guns like daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John seemed a bit offended by this but Sherlock laughed and nudged him, “Come on, you two let’s go find a funnel cake, then we can try out the swings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the evening was a delight; they rode more rides, watched a few performances, got some saltwater taffy for Mrs. Hudson, and even took Rosie back to the animal barn before they left. It took Rosie all of three minutes in the car before she was asleep and snoring. </span>
</p><p>John was still smiling and Sherlock reached across the console to take his hand, "Thank you for today."</p><p>"My pleasure," John replied bringing Sherlock's hand to his lips so he could press a kiss to his knuckles. The he glanced over at Sherlock, "Are you happy?" he asked again.</p><p>"With you?" Sherlock murmured, "Always."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Words of affirmation is literally my love language; kind comments are always super appreciated. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Testing, Testing, 1,2,3 (3 Months Out- Harry's Wedding)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oof. Friends. It has been a month. </p>
<p>I'm terribly sorry. As I think I've shared before I struggle with depression and anxiety; this has always been especially true in February for as long as I can remember. I also got my vaccine on the last Friday in February (which is fantastic, I was super excited) but I had several side effects and then promptly got a stomach bug following that. So, as I said, it's been a month. </p>
<p>No warnings for this chapter unless you have triggering wedding memories- we're headed to Harry and Amelia's wedding where the boys realize just how many things can go wrong at a wedding. </p>
<p>I have stared at this chapter until I hate it, so as one of my comfort fic authors wrote at the beginning of one of their chapters, there comes a point when you just have to stop messing with a chapter and throw it out there, so here it is. (That fic is Curious Case by Cleo2010 if you're wondering and you should definitely read it if you've never had the pleasure. It's fantastic.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>John was trying very hard not to view Harry’s wedding as a test run to see all of the things that could go wrong for his own in just a few months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John was mostly failing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not that he didn’t want to be able to just enjoy the day, to not analyze every single moment of the wedding and every detail leading up to it, he just couldn’t seem to help himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The trouble started right out of the gate with Harry refusing to eat breakfast. This, to John at least, didn't seem like a great plan. Nor had Harry telling her other two bridesmaids to just get ready in their own room and she'd see them at the wedding seemed like a fantastic plan the evening before, but John wasn't the one getting married and he didn't get a say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched Harry scroll through something on her phone, he could only imagine what she was looking at but it probably wasn't something she needed to be seeing at the moment. “Come on,” John cajoled, thinking surely there must be someone better than him to be doing this. Wasn’t it enough that he had to fight with Sherlock about eating? “You need to eat something, Harry. You don’t want to head off down the aisle and pass out, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think I’m going to pass out?” Harry asked, her voice nearing a level of hysterics that John hadn’t seen in years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if you just eat some breakfast,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t,” she replied, standing up and pacing away from John.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed and took a bite out of his own toast, he was hungry whether she was or not and it wasn't going to help either of them if he started feeling hangry. “Why not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glared at him, “You are not helping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want me to do?” he asked helplessly. Seriously, there must be someone more qualified than him for this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Harry said, throwing her arms up in the air. “You’re a doctor. And you’re a good dad. Aren’t you supposed to be good at calming people down?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” John said, if she wanted to be calmed down, he could do that. Unconsciously he tipped his chin up and his shoulders kicked back. “Okay, sit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to s-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry,” he said calmly but firmly. “Sit down. Right now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She huffed but plopped down in the chair next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He resisted the urge to say 'good', gentle praise was something that helped Rosie (and honestly, also Sherlock) but he knew it was something she would resent. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She scrubbed her hands over her face, “I could really use a drink.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have coffee.” He stood up and moved toward the refrigerator, “I even bought some of that fancy, expensive creamer you and Sherlock like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant,” she replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” John murmured, bringing over the creamer and pouring her a cup of coffee. “But the hotel coffee is actually pretty good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wrapped her hands around the cup and took a sip. Harry stared off into the distance for a moment and John resisted the urge to press, his patience was rewarded a few minutes later when Harry said, “I wouldn’t want to marry me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s a good thing you’re marrying Amelia and not yourself, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John,” she said and he could hear her frustration rising. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He covered her hand with his, “Harry, I could tell you exactly how fucking</span>
  <em>
    <span> amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span> I think you are but it wouldn’t change a thing about how you feel about you and we both know it. So I'll tell you this, most people don’t want to marry themselves. I wouldn’t want to marry me; I’m short and my hair is greying, I’m always running around ragged after a four-year-old, I’m grumpy and emotionally constipated, it took me a decade to tell the love of my life that I loved him. I’m a complete mess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet Sherlock would want to marry himself,” she grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John laughed, “Are you kidding? Sherlock wouldn’t want to marry himself in a million years. Sherlock’s a self professed addict who traded drugs for solving crimes. He gets lost in his head and struggles with depression, even if he wouldn’t call it that, he’s too damn smart for his own good sometimes and too oblivious to some things. Sherlock is just as in awe of the fact that I want to marry him as I am that he wanted to marry me.” He squeezed her hand, “We don’t marry people just like us, we marry people who make us better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But what if I don’t do that for her?” Harry whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do, Harry,” he said. “I know you do. And isn’t it her call to make anyway?” John asked. “Doesn’t she get a say in all of this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took a sip of her coffee, thinking, then replied, “I used to feel that way about Clara. That she chose this life, chose me,” she shook her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t the same,” he said softly. “Amelia isn’t Clara and you aren’t the same person you were then.” He patted her hand, “You only get to control you,” he said. “And Amelia gets to decide what’s right for her. She decided that was you and she seems like a pretty smart woman to me. Let’s us Watsons not question the judgement of our better halves, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry snorted and took another sip of her coffee. “Pass me that croissant.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John handed it over happily, pleased that the crisis was averted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An hour later, there was a new crisis. One that John had absolutely no idea how to fix. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This curling iron isn’t working!” Harry all but shouted. And then she started brushing her hair, brushing through the places she’d already curled, and turning her hair into an even bigger mess. John felt like he’d fallen through time back into the 80’s as he looked at the poofy cloud of hair surrounding his sister's head. “I should have just hired a hair dresser. And now I’m going to have to look back at all of my wedding photos and see my hair as an absolute disaster-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shut it down, he thought to himself, find the neutral place again. “Okay,” John said, knowing there definitely had to be someone more qualified than him for this. “Don’t panic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t panic?!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she shrieked. “That’s what you’re going with?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s just hit the reset button. What’s the reset button on hair?” he asked, perhaps a touch more desperately than he might have liked. “A shower?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your curls hold better if you haven’t showered,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was glad to concede that she knew more about hair than he did, but there didn't seem to be much that could be done at this point. “Okay, but is there salvaging that?” he asked, gesturing to the frizzy mess of hair floating around her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are the worst brother! The worst maid of honor!” Harry shrieked and to his complete horror he saw tears welling up in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock knew how to use a curling iron. He was in a room just down the hall getting Rosie ready. “I’m calling Sherlock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He knows how to curl hair!” John told her. “And he’s really good with,” he gestured vaguely, “you know... twiddly bits. He does Rosie’s hair all the time and she looks like a princess. Here,” he said, swiping open his phone, “I have a bunch of pictures.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry stomped over and looked over his shoulder as John pointed out some of the hair-do’s he’d done for Rosie. “Fine,” she conceded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John nodded, “Go get in the shower and I’ll call him over.” Harry left and (miraculously) did as she was told. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a deep breath and dialed the other man’s phone number, “pick up, pick up, pick up,” he muttered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the third ring Sherlock’s voice came over the line, “John,” he said, sounding like he’d been laughing and John could see his face in his mind’s eye, smile big enough to crinkle his eyes, face a tiny but flushed. It made his breath come easier, just the image of him in his mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” John said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, and John wondered what he’d heard in his voice to let him know something was wrong. He marveled at the fact that the two of them knew each other so well that a word or a phrase was enough for them to get a reading on the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you come over?” he asked. “I can’t do hair and Harry’s having a melt down about curling her’s.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What products does she already have?” Sherlock asked briskly, all business now, and John felt his entire body relaxing, Sherlock could do this. He would help and everything would be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No idea,” he replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock sighed, “I’ll just bring over everything I’ve got with me, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John could have kissed him. In fact, he was sure he would do it first thing when the other man arrived. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen what I’ll do to her hair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed, “No, but I saw what she did to it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope she can’t hear you,” Sherlock said, and he could hear the other man shuffling things about, packing up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have a death wish.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be there soon. 306, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John nodded, “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, see you in a minute.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” John said, preparing to hang up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, John?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put the phone back to his ear, “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only a few minutes later when Sherlock was knocking on the door, Rosie in tow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” John said, letting them in. Rosie skipped past first, heading over to look at all of Harry’s make up laid out on the table. John leaned in and kissed Sherlock, “Thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock smiled at him, “What are partners for?” he asked with a wink, handing John a surprisingly heavy bag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What have you got in here?” John asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hair products,” he replied loftily. “Getting curls like mine naturally is quite a bit of work.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe avoid the bragging about your naturally luscious curls,” John said with a wince.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock frowned, “Harriet has naturally curly hair. It’ll be a perfect base.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John shrugged, “I’m just saying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is she?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honestly?” John asked, glancing across the room to be sure that Harry was still in the shower. “She’s a wreck.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded once, “Leave her hair to me.” Sherlock strode across the room and knocked on the bathroom door, “Harriet? I’m coming in. Do not try to stop me, we are making your curls perfect and that will start with the conditioning mask I’m about to give you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next hour and a half was spent with Sherlock dictating every move they made. From making Harry leave the conditioning mask on for ten minutes, to not brushing her hair, to the product she put in her hair once she got out and even how she put it in, then to using one of John’s t-shirts to wrap her hair up for thirty minutes. Sherlock took out a jar of face mask once he’d gotten her hair tied on top of her head with the tshirt, “This is one of my favorite masks,” he informed her. “Makes the skin very supple and soft,” he said as he started to apply the black goo to his sister’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to have a mask!” Rosie exclaimed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your skin is already perfect,” John told her, not wanting to add one more thing to Sherlock’s plate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Sherlock just patted the bed next to Harry, “Come on, bee, you can have a face mask, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smeared the black goop on Rosie’s little face next keeping a good margin between the mask and her curls. Rosie giggled and ran over to look at her face in the mirror once Sherlock finished. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now,” Sherlock said, turning his attention back to Harry, “Your fingernails look lovely but what are you doing with your toenails.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry looked down at her feet, “Nothing, I’m wearing close-toed shoes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock tsked, “No.” He went over to the bag he’d prepared and dug around. “Fortunately, I wasn’t entirely confident that Rosie wouldn’t smear the burgundy nail polish we’d picked to match her dress for the wedding.” He pulled out a bottle of nail polish remover along with the burgundy nail polish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t!” Rosie called over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you didn’t,” Sherlock praised. “You were very patient.” He sat down cross-legged by Harry’s feet and started to undo the lid on the nail polish remover.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” she asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to do your toenails while we wait for your mask to harden and your hair to dry partially.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can do it myself,” she spluttered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock shook his head, “You just relax. I’ve got this part under control. John, go get your sister a sparkling water from our room.” He looked up at Harry and added, “You’re dehydrated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time John got back Sherlock was chuckling at a story Harry was telling him about some of her wedding preparations and Sherlock was carefully painting her toenails the same burgundy as Rosie’s fingers. John was suddenly glad that Sherlock and Rosie had worn him down about getting a color that matched Harry’s wedding colors; he’d just thought burgundy was too dark for a five-year-old. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He handed Harry the sparkling water and she smiled at him, her eyes looked happier than they had all day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Sherlock said, “You stay still for a minute or two, drink your water, and don’t mess up your toe nail polish. I’m going to get the hair station set up,” he added with a nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he was out of earshot Harry leaned over to John, “Where did he learn to do all this?” she whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With Sherlock, who knows?” John said, smiling over at the other man who was talking to Rosie about the things he was setting out for doing Harry’s hair. He was just glad that this crisis wasn’t such a crisis after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ceremony itself, much to John’s (and probably Harry’s) relief, went off without a hitch. Harry looked absolutely gorgeous, her natural curls simply enhanced with a curling iron and then swept into a low bun at the side of her neck, with only a few wispy curls left framing her face. Both brides were on time, Rosie looked positively adorable in her fluffy burgundy dress as she flounced down the aisle spreading autumn leaves, Amelia cried as she walked down the aisle, they said short but sweet vows, shared a kiss, and were pronounced wife and wife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Throughout the ceremony, John couldn’t stop himself from looking over at Sherlock, watching him with Rosie balanced on his hip as he whispered to her and pointed things out to her. His heart twisted in his chest, in the not too distant future it would be the two of them standing up together like this. John couldn't stop smiling, it was ridiculous how much he loved him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Following the ceremony, Harry and Amelia had planned to have a receiving line on the steps. It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea at the time and John had been to so many weddings that this was the case for, he'd thought nothing of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That is until John opened the door to find that while they were inside it had started to absolutely pour. “Well,” John said, turning to look at the rest of the bridal party and at Harry and Amelia, “Looks like we’ll be having the receiving line in here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The adjustment was simple enough and he turned to Harry as the first few guests started to pass by, holding their coats and purses over their heads, “Any chance you’ve remembered umbrellas?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked horrified for a moment. John put his hand on her arm, “No, don’t worry. Don’t panic," he said because apparently he hadn't learned his lesson the first time. "I will take care of it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed his way through the crowd until he reached Sherlock who was still in the same pew, chatting with Rosie as they waited for the crowd to thin out. “Hey,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Sherlock replied, tilting his head back and offering his lips for a kiss. With a smile so wide it made his cheeks hurt, he obliged him and bent down to press a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rosie climbed over Sherlock and latched herself on to John next and John’s heart swelled with love for the both of them. “What a lovely greeting,” he said, pressing a kiss into Rosie’s hair. “Sorry, I can’t stay long with the two of you,” he added, passing Rosie back to Sherlock. “I just came to see if you’d thought to bring an umbrella with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock winced and shook his head, “I have one back at the hotel, but that’s not going to help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, there’s a little shop just down the block. I’ll just run over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave your jacket with me,” Sherlock said, reaching out for it, “and use the side exit, it’s at least a little closer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John slipped out of his suit coat, “Wish me luck,” he said as he handed it over to Sherlock, and set off toward the side door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d always hated the autumn. When it was this temperature in the spring it felt glorious, but in the fall it was always freezing. He took a deep breath as he opened the door and dashed out into the rain. The store was only half a block away and he sprinted there, but John was practically dripping as he stepped inside, his wet hair falling into his eyes as he headed over toward the umbrellas. “Bloody stupid rain,” he grumbled to himself as he picked out two umbrellas and carried them toward the register. “Of all the rotten luck.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” the chipper cashier said, “Quite the storm out there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” John replied, handing her the umbrellas and pulling out his wallet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s got you outside today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John glanced up at her, wishing she’d just hurry and ring him up. “Sister’s wedding,” he replied. “We weren’t expecting the rain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I love weddings,” she said with a wistful sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” John said, “I’m not trying to be rude but my sister and her wife are going to be ready to leave the church at any moment. And I need to get back with the umbrellas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” the girl replied, scanning them and giving John the total. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cheers,” John said, grabbing the bag and telling her to keep the change. By the time he made it outside, the pavement seemed to have even more standing water on it. Umbrella held aloft, he dashed back and made it to the steps in time to see Harry and Amelia looking outside with a bit of apprehension. “Here we are,” he said as he stepped through the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a nightmare,” Amelia murmured, “It’s like a bloody monsoon. It’s going to completely ruin my dress." She looked at Harry and John watched a look of dawning comprehension flit across her face before she said, "and our photos were supposed to be outdoors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t help with the photos,” John said, “But if you hold this,” he said, handing the open umbrella to Amelia, “I will hold you,” he said as he scooped her up into his arms. She let out a little squeak but then squeezed John’s neck in thanks. “Keep a hold on your train,” he added before starting out the door and down the steps. “Harry you wait right there,” he called over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He deposited Amelia into the car and came back up the steps for Harry. “Here you are,” he said, handing her the umbrella. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to-” she started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied softly. “Of course I do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her and headed down the steps to place her in the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you at the reception, yeah?” he shouted over the sound of the rain pounding on the car's roof once he’d gotten her settled in next to Amelia. “If it’s as wet there as it is here, wait for me, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both thanked him and he grabbed the umbrella and headed back to the church. Once inside, he realized that the rest of the bridal party, with whom he was supposed to ride with to the reception, had left without him. Irritation boiled up within his gut, “Bloody hell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled, trying to get rid of the frustration. “It’s fine,” he told himself firmly. “It’s all fine,” he clenched his fists and then unclenched his fists. Maybe a cab? He turned and headed back toward the door, hoping against hope that he might be able to find a cab in this weather. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John was halfway down the steps when a black suv pulled up in front of the church. The window rolled down and Sherlock called out to him, “Get in!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Relief swept through his body and for one moment John wondered if he was about to cry which seemed a bit ridiculous but he couldn't quite help it. He opened the door and climbed into the seat, the vents were on full blast and it was at that moment that he realized just how chilled he was. Leaning across the console, he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We saw the bridal party leaving without you,” Sherlock said. “Sorry, we would have stuck around to tell you but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had to go get your clothes,” Rosie piped up from the back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My clothes?” John asked, looking between the two of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded as he pulled out into traffic, “I brought an extra shirt and pair of trousers. Clothing malfunctions are one of the most common problems with weddings; a stain on the shirt, a rip along the seam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John stared at him in awe, “You’re brilliant and I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I helped, too!” Rosie called.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John turned to look at her, “Well we all know that you’re brilliant,” he said and she beamed at him. “And I adore you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” she said cheerfully before going back to playing with the plushy on her lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned forward once more and reached across to rest his hand on Sherlock’s knee, “We’re going to need to go through our wedding plan again after today,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock brought his knuckles to his lips, “It’s all going to be fine,” he assured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And John relaxed a bit, trusting that even if it wasn’t Sherlock would make it so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The venue was an absolute mess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Harry had told him that they were going to be having their reception in one of those cute little country-chique barns, he’d thought it was a fine idea. The venue was lovely, lots of grass and trees outside that would be beautiful in the fall; inside there was space for dining and for dancing, the drinks were all served in mason jars. Harry and Amelia had been instantly taken with it and John was glad to support their choice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the venue stood currently, though, the whole place was covered in mud. He stared at the gaping, muddy tracks that the cars had made as they'd pulled through to park, at the rain pouring down the steep roof of the barn and overflowing from the gutters, leaving huge mud puddles that John just <em>knew </em>were knee deep.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t suppose you brought me an extra pair of shoes?” he asked Sherlock with a wince. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock shook his head, “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be,” John said. “Listen, I’m going to go get the girls and carry them in,” he said, nodding to where their car was parked up ahead. “Here,” he said, reaching down and taking off his shoes and socks that had only begun to dry out while they were in the car, “Could you two take these? I’ll just wash my feet once I get inside, easier than washing my shoes,” he grumbled as he rolled up his trousers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good thinking,” Sherlock replied, grabbing a plastic bag from behind the seat. “I’m going to do the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me, too!” Rosie cried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rosie, I’m carrying you,” Sherlock said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rosie groaned, “No fair. I want to play in the mud, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have this?” John asked, nodding back toward Rosie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock affirmed, leaning across to peck him on the lips, “Go do your best man duties, I’ll bring in your trousers and shirt with your shoes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “I can think of a thing or two,” he quipped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” John said, wishing he could just stay here in the car. “Wish me luck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good luck, daddy!” Rosie called.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath he grabbed the umbrella and made his way out of the car, trying his hardest to avoid slipping in the mud. He made it to the car and opened the door, “You’re going to want to keep a firm hold on your dress,” he told Harry, “It’s a complete mudpit out here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are your shoes?” she asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He handed her the umbrella and lifted her out of the car, keeping an eye out for an white fabric that might be dangling, “With Sherlock. I’ll just wash my feet once I get inside, better my feet than my shoes.” </span>
  <span>He carried her the twenty meters to the entrance of the barn and set her down, reaching out to take the umbrella from her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for this, John,” she said seriously. “I do not know what would have happened if you weren’t here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t mention it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “Let me go fetch your wife, I’ll be right back.” He dashed out once more, keeping the umbrella held aloft until he reached the car, “Your turn,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amelia scooted to the edge of the seat and John lifted her out, “Hold on,” he said, dashing toward the building, toes squish-squelching through the mud once more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They made it without incident and he set her down and waved off her thanks, nudging her toward Harry as he looked around for his other half. Sherlock was making his way toward the restroom, John’s clothes and shoes in hand, and when John caught his eye he jerked his head toward the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He weaved his way through the crowd, politely saying hello and assuring people the food would arrive shortly all the way to the restroom. When he finally made it across the room and slipped into the single occupancy restroom behind Sherlock, he quickly locked the door and leaned back against it with a sigh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re such an introvert,” Sherlock teased, lips quirking as he gestured for John to have a seat on the toilet seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t I know it,” he chuckled as he collapsed and rubbed his hands over his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t open his eyes until he felt a damp towel wrapping around his ankle; he jumped and looked down to see that Sherlock was kneeling on a second towel at his feet so he could clean them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do that,” John said, bending forward to take the towel from Sherlock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shush,” Sherlock replied, leaning up so he could peck his lips before going back to the task at hand. “Just relax for a minute, let me be the person fixing things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was quiet, letting Sherlock wash his feet and legs, removing the mud and filth. When he’d finished, Sherlock sat back on his feet and looked up at John with a little smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” John said, stroking a thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock turned his head and pressed a kiss to John’s palm, “I love you, too. You’re a good brother,” he added. “But your work isn't done yet, I'm afraid," Sherlock added, clapping his hands as he stood up. "You should get changed. The food’s going to be late; I am 96% sure of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John groaned and stood up to get changed and a few minutes later, after trying to put his hair in some semblance of order, he straightened his shoulders and headed out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you are,” Harry said nearly immediately, “Thank God. We have a problem.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me guess,” he said, “The food is going to be late.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you know?” she asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded toward Sherlock, “I didn’t but Sherlock did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Statistical probability given the rain, the location of your catering company, and the remoteness of your venue,” Sherlock replied, his hand rubbed John’s lower back almost absently and John appreciated that touch more than he could have possibly articulated at that moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” John said before Harry could panic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone is hungry!” she hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John looked around, thinking quickly, “What if we did cake now?” he offered. “A piece of cake would tide everyone over until food gets here and we could do toasts during cake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me ask Amelia,” Harry said but she already sounded a little calmer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she walked away Sherlock leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple, “See? Everything’s going to be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-----------------------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything was surprisingly fine. They ate cake, toasts were lovely, and the food arrived just as everyone was getting bored of listening to the maid of honor speak. John thought, foolishly perhaps, that they were in the clear; surely there couldn’t be anything left to go wrong at this point could there? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, as he was listening to one of the guests seated at the table with Rosie, Sherlock, and him go on and on about his invention of a smart toilet that would measure your urine and stool output and run a diagnostic on it to let you know if you were dehydrated, or sick, or receiving proper nutrition, Harry came over again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry to interrupt you Marvin-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Melvin,” the man corrected with a slight huff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Melvin,” she amended, giving him a smile that looked more like a grimace, “I just need to borrow John and Rosie for a moment while we try to figure out photographs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock stood as well, taking Rosie’s hand and John gave him a grateful little smile. Harry took them into a huddle with Amelia and the other members of the bridal party. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyone have any ideas for where we should take the pictures?” Amelia asked feebly like she was just exhausted from trying to figure out how to punt all day and John couldn’t blame her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked around the barn they were in but it didn’t seem like there were any great spots. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could just take them outside,” one of the bridesmaids piped up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John glanced to the door even as Harry said, “It’s still bloody pouring outside, Mandy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but I did a wreck the dress photo shoot when my fiance cheated on me and those pictures turned out stunning.” She shrugged, “You’d end up ruining your dresses but the photos would be good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amelia looked over at the photographer, “Is that feasible?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman shrugged, “Sure, if that’s what you want. I’ll need someone to hold an umbrella for me to help keep my equipment dry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can help with that,” Sherlock offered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re nice and tall, that should work out well,” the photographer replied with a chuckle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry gave Amelia a little shrug, "I can't think of any better ideas. I don't mind wrecking my dress if you don't."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's just a dress," Amelia replied with a little smile, "I don't care what the dress looks like as long as there are happy photos from today."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His sister leaned over and kissed Amelia, "Let's get ready to go get wet then."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone set about preparing themselves to go outside and John turned to Sherlock, “Do we have a different outfit for Rosie? I don’t want her sitting in a soaked dress after this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded, “I brought along one of her dresses from home. Not quite as fancy as the one she’s wearing now, but it’ll do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clenched his fists in Sherlock’s lapels and tugged him closer, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, “What would I do without you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other man rubbed his hands up and down John’s arms, “You’d manage."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John wasn’t so sure but Harry was calling them over toward the doors, so he didn’t argue. By John’s estimation, Sherlock saved him every day from the things that could go wrong, maybe he should tell him more often. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe that was enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>------------------------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sherlock?” John whispered later on that night after they’d returned to the hotel following the wedding, after they’d given Rosie a bath to warm her up and tucked her into the pull out couch in the living room of the suite they were staying in, after they’d climbed into the shower together to warm up, after they’d pulled on pajamas and slid under the covers, and Sherlock had curled up against John’s side, tucked securely under his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed in reply, nuzzling John’s shoulder a bit, and John could tell that he was probably thinking the same things that he was, probably reflecting on the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we should have eloped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock huffed and adjusted so he could put his chin on John’s chest and look up at him. “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. We’ve already sent out all of the invitations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>so many things</span>
  </em>
  <span> that can go wrong,” John groaned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s talk through them,” Sherlock offered. “We can solve a lot of problems before they become problems.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry was losing her mind this morning,” he said. “Her anxiety was crippling and I’m sure it could have been mitigated by Amelia being with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock shook his head, “I’m not compromising on that one, John. It’s simply bad luck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed, “Fine." Sherlock could certainly be stubborn. "I’m not worried about hair and make up, are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Sherlock replied with a little huff of a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re staying at the manor the night before our wedding, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, “I think that would be wisest, don’t you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I don’t want to be late to my own wedding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Hudson is officiating so we’ll have her stay at the Manor,” Sherlock added, “And Greg and Mycroft, my parents, Molly, and obviously Rosie. Then everyone who is essential is already there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Perfect,” John replied. “What if it rains?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unlikely given the location and the time of year,” Sherlock replied reasonably. “We’re more likely to get snow but there are people who tend to the grounds, so that should be fine. And if you want we can buy enough umbrellas for every guest in attendance just in case. Then they’ll have a lovely walk from the chapel back up to the manor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we having pictures?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought some in the chapel; then if you’d like, and it isn’t too cold, some outside; and some in the manor as well,” Sherlock replied. “There is no shortage of photographable locations at the manor. There's also always the option of coming back for a shoot another day, lot's of people do it to help keep the guests from having to wait too long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We didn't we think of that earlier?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We did," Sherlock replied. "But one of the bridesmaids is pregnant and isn't going to fit in that dress for much longer, another lives several hours away, and selfishly I just wanted you to be able to be done with this wedding."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's fair," he said. He pressed a kiss into Sherlock's curls as he</span>
  <span> trailed the tips of his fingers along the smooth skin between Sherlock’s elbow and the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. “What if our caterer is late?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ll be making the food in the manor,” Sherlock replied, “There’s no commute. And I’ve already asked Evelyn to bring the wedding cake out the evening before and she agreed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, “What if our photographer doesn’t show up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed, “Would you like me to book a second just in case?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” John replied. “Would it offend Alexander do you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll just find someone to put on standby that lives near the manor,” Sherlock said thoughtfully. “Then if he can’t make it we’ll just call them in.” He paused then said, “Better yet, let’s invite Alexander to come to the rehearsal the night before. He can stay in the manor overnight and he’ll be there with all of the other essential people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John nodded again, “Good thinking,” he replied pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s crown. “What if our dj doesn’t show up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll make our wedding playlist on spotify and download it. We’ll just play it over the speaker system and that will be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure there are things I’m not thinking of,” John said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sherlock agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you thinking of them?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other man nodded against his chest. “Yes but I’ve already thought up contingency plans for anything that I could come up with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock took a breath, “Like the manor burning down, for instance. If that happened we’d just have to reschedule so there’s no point in working out a contingency plan. Or someone’s clothes getting ripped or stained,” he added. “I’ve ordered extra trousers and shirts for the men because they aren’t that expensive and I found two dresses that go with the color scheme but weren’t as expensive as Harry and Molly’s bridesmaid dresses just in case. I also ordered both of them little faux fur stole capes to wear for the pictures outdoors.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brilliant,” John praised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re going to make a few extra of every meal option just in case someone comes and informs us that they’ve gone vegan for the day or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John chuckled, “Sounds smart,” he murmured as he tugged Sherlock a bit until most of his body was laid over top of John's anchoring him to the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed and wrapped his arms more firmly around John. “We’ve ordered enough alcohol for fifty more people to attend and I booked bartenders who make a fantastic mocktails.” </span>
</p>
<p>"Genius," he murmured, kissing Sherlock's curls once more and starting to feel a bit better.</p>
<p>"There are four types of things to go wrong," Sherlock said. </p>
<p>"Oh?" he asked.</p>
<p>The other man nodded, "As far as I can tell. The first is with one of us; doubts, insecurities, clothing, etcetera."</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
<p>"The second is a venue issue; this includes things like the location burning down, food, drinks, music, and all other non-human related issues," Sherlock continued. "Third is a guest or bridal party issue; basically any problem that a person is having that isn't one of us. And the fourth is a ceremony issue; one of us forgets our vows, trips up the aisle, Molly forgets her tissues, that sort of thing." </p>
<p>"Those make sense as categories," John replied as he slowly carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, the gesture and Sherlock's logical approach helping to ground him.</p>
<p>"Right," Sherlock agreed. "Most of the issues fall in the second category. They're things that could go wrong with the venue but honestly, that's the least important thing, right?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," he said, because he was right. Material things did seem the least important in the grand scheme of things.</p>
<p>Sherlock nodded again, "The next most likely category for a problem to occur in is a guest or bridal party issue."</p>
<p>"And that doesn't matter," John said, seeing where Sherlock was leading, "because it's not about them. We want them to come and have a good time but at the end of the day they don't matter."</p>
<p>"Exactly," Sherlock said approvingly and John could hear the smile in his voice. "Next would be a ceremony issue-"</p>
<p>"But at the end of the day, as long as we're married it's all fine," John finished.</p>
<p>A kiss was placed over his hear, "Yes."</p>
<p>"And then there's us," John said, "And we don't have to worry about that category at all."</p>
<p>"Don't we?"</p>
<p>John kissed Sherlock's head, "No, because I love you more than life itself and I know that you love me the same even if that defies logic."</p>
<p>Sherlock hummed, "This has the added benefit of being the most important category," Sherlock said. "As long as nothing goes wrong there, our wedding day will be a success, no matter what."</p>
<p>"You're brilliant," he whispered, feeling calmer than he had all day. "I love you and I am glad I'm going to get to marry you."</p>
<p>"Me too," Sherlock replied. "Come hell or high water." </p>
<p>He drifted off to sleep under the comfortable weight of Sherlock's body and the knowledge that they had each other, no matter what.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10: A Rose By Any Other Name Is Not a Rose. (2 Months Out)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends.</p>
<p>Sorry- I've gotten a little bit weird about this fic; there have been some wonky comments on this fic and while I try not to let them get to me, I can't explain what the heck is going on in my silly brain. </p>
<p>In the meantime, I've started a little ficlet challenge over on tumblr, writing drarry drabbles (if you're interested in reading them, my drarry tumblr is drarilly-we-row-along). It's been good for my brain to reset a bit. </p>
<p>I will still be updating this fic, though. More to come in the not too distant future. &lt;3 </p>
<p>If you've left me nice comments on this fic (or any of my fics) I so appreciate you! (Special shout out to Jberry who left a comment yesterday that finally got me out of the funk enough to post this chapter. You always leave the nicest comments and I am so grateful! &lt;3)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sherlock could admit that he’d been anxious about the wedding from the very beginning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of the two of them, John was much better at staying calm, about focusing on the big picture, and about keeping what was important (the two of them) front and center. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock hadn’t honestly thought that his anxiety about the wedding could have gotten much worse. Until October 26th. The moment before his eyes opened that morning, he realized that their wedding was only two months away and </span>
  <em>
    <span>they still had so much to do. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John,” he slurred, as his eyes opened, reaching over and patting at the other man blindly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John, wake up,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other man groaned and turned his head, opening one eye to look at the clock, “S’only half five, Sherlock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John our wedding is in precisely two months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded and rolled onto his side curling in a bit on himself, “Yes,” he replied through a yawn. “So it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One eye opened and he stared at Sherlock, “You’re not going to let me go back to sleep are you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t a question but Sherlock answered him regardless, “Not unless you can tell me that our wedding playlist is done, that we’ve gotten our seating chart finished, and you’ve sent in the application for the marriage license.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John let out an exhale, pouting slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on. I’m going to go start making coffee. You go use the loo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rolled over toward the side of the bed with a groan and Sherlock climbed out of bed, “It’s a good thing I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously,” Sherlock replied. “Otherwise this endeavor would be entirely pointless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John huffed a laugh and shuffled off toward the bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re only allowed four minutes, so don’t fall asleep on the toilet,” Sherlock called over his shoulder as he headed toward the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the coffee was done, he poured John’s and left it on the table before heading into the living room with his own to stare at the wall where he’d drawn out the layout of the dining room at the manor so he could see everything more clearly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While he was still musing about the numbers, how many people had rsvp’d yes, how many had said no, and how many were unaccounted for, John turned up in the living room. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and hugged him from behind, pressing a kiss into his shoulder blade. “Coffee’s in the kitchen,” Sherlock murmured, rubbing his thumb over John’s forearm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kay,” John murmured. “Tell me one thing you’re thinking,” he said in lieu of moving to get his coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That if everyone who has yet to respond says ‘no’ our dining room is going to be very empty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt John’s breath huff a laugh through the thin cotton of his shirt, “Tell me another.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There isn’t a seat far enough away from mine for my cousin Imelda.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned back a little into John’s embrace, “I can’t stand her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why did we invite her?” John asked, sounding amused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I couldn’t very well invite the rest of her family and not her,” he reasoned, “It would have been nice if she’d just declined the invitation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John kissed his neck, “Tell me another.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is a 86% likelihood that there will be a fistfight at our wedding.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged, “too much testosterone on our guest list. And some of my family is rather conservative.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me a nice thought,” John said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock hummed, “In two months, I’ll be able to call you my husband.” He could feel John smiling against his shoulder so he continued, “I’ll be able to say, ‘Yes, hello client,’” he imagined, “‘have you met my husband, John Watson?’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John’s arms squeezed tighter. “John Watson Holmes,” he corrected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock smiled and offered another, “Take that, you dastardly fiend, that’s my husband who’s pinned you to the ground until the police arrive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A small chuckle against the nape of his neck, “That is a nice thought,” John replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go get your coffee,” Sherlock said, “then you can help me work out the furthest point from our table and the most annoying guests we have to sit with cousin Imelda.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The morning flew by; they’d gotten Rosie up and they took a break to eat breakfast together. Then John had left to deliver her to nursery while Sherlock had made some calls to talk to the chef and the woman who was in charge of setting up the dining room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d heard steps on the stairs and hadn’t thought much of it, imagining it was just John returning, and was surprised when there was a little knock at the door. He spun to see Molly standing in the doorway, a pastry bag in hand. “Molly,” he greeted in surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” she said, ducking her head and giving him a little smile. “I was just in the neighborhood-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dropping off dry cleaning,” Sherlock finished with a nod as he turned back .</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grinned at him, “Yes. And I thought I’d stop by and see if there was anything I could help with.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you with timelines?” Sherlock asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>--------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John was later returning than he ought to have been but Sherlock barely noticed. Molly was asking, “So, if you’re not seeing each other before the wedding who will be in the chapel first? Are one of you walking down the aisle?” as John walked through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, hey, Mols,” he said, grinning at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” she replied with a little smile up at John.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John handed Sherlock a flower and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Hey,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s happened with the florist?” Sherlock asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re late,” Sherlock said, “The florist is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one person</span>
  </em>
  <span> who has your contact information down instead of mine because I was preoccupied with her dog, so she would have called you and not me. And then there’s the fact that you came walking in carrying a white hydrangea which you wouldn’t have found in any store except a floral shop in October.” He gasped as he realized exactly what had happened, “deduction, they won’t have the white lilies that we wanted so the florist tried to sell you on white hydrangea because they are pretty, and have similar connotations in the purity category to the lilies that we chose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I ever going to stop being amazed by your brilliance?” John asked with a breathless smile that almost sidetracked Sherlock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but we can’t have white </span>
  <em>
    <span>hydrangea </span>
  </em>
  <span>for our wedding!” he all but exploded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John’s shoulders sagged, “But you just said they were pretty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John, be reasonable,” Sherlock said. “You do understand that white hydrangea are also symbolic of vanity, boasting, and arrogance don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed and plopped down in his armchair. “No, I didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well they do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly piped up then, “Well that’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it? Boasting about your beautiful relationship, being proud of it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But they’re also bad luck!” Sherlock said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again, with the bad luck,” John groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to jinx our wedding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other man sat up in his chair and reached for Sherlock’s hand, “Darling, you know I don’t. But I don’t believe in luck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then how do you explain Mike Stamford?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed impatiently, “Mike Stamford. What are the odds that on the exact day that I mention that I’m looking for a flatmate, he runs into the one person in the entire world who could stand to live with me, who also happens to be looking for a flatmate? If we were watching a movie we’d call that contrived.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, we’d call it fate,” John said. “Look, Sherlock, I choose you. I have chosen you over and over and I will continue to do that until the end of time. Relationships are work, obviously. But all of those bits that you’re chalking up to luck, I’m chalking up to fate.” He gave his hand a little squeeze, “I was supposed to be with you, Sherlock. That’s that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Sherlock said with a huff. He wasn’t quite ready to give up on his irritation and anxiety about this yet but John probably wasn’t wrong. “They’re still wrong for a winter wedding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John sighed, “I knew you were going to say that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Molly said, “How do you feel about dusty miller?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock was about to reply that he wasn’t overly fond but John said, “I don’t know who that is. But if it’s a florist, I don’t think we should switch, Lisa’s very nice and it isn’t her fault that the lily crop was terrible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly laughed, “dusty miller is a plant,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” John replied, brow furrowing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” she said, taking out her phone, “I’ve got a whole winter wedding pinterest board.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock moved over on the sofa to make room for her to sit and John to sit on her other side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See,” she said, offering the phone to Sherlock with a picture of a small bouquet, “the dusty miller with white roses just makes the arrangement look frosty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock took the phone from her and inspected the arrangement more carefully; she was right, they actually looked very wintry. “That’s a good idea,” he finally said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excellent.” John replied with relish. “I’ll call Lisa and let her know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t I call Lisa?” Sherlock offered. “Since you’ve already talked to her today?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine by me,” John replied easily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly stood up and brushed off her trousers, “Right, well, I’d best be on my way. I’d um-” she trailed off, smiling down at the floor. “Wanted to say thanks,” she finished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” John asked, “What for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For introducing me to Ryan at that Pub Trivia Night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John grinned and Sherlock stomped on his foot as subtly as he could, “Yes, John had been feeling a bit bad for him with that nasty break up over the summer. Thought a pub night that tested your anatomy knowledge might be just the thing to cheer him up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Molly laughed, shaking her head as she made her way to the door, “I know what you’re doing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not doing anything,” John replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m only trying to say thanks. Must be nice for you to get to play Mike Stamford once in a while,” she added with a wink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock called after her as she headed down the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going out tonight, I’ll text you to let you know how it goes, shall I?” she called back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” John shouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock rolled his eyes, “If you like,” he added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the door downstairs closed Sherlock turned to John, “That wasn’t very subtle, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John laughed, “Yes because effectively inviting them on a double date was </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>more subtle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned his nose up at John, “I’m going to call the florist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” John agreed. “And then we really need to start making our wedding do and do not play list.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned, “Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he’d finished up with the florist, John had set up the bluetooth speaker and connected his phone. “Maybe we could just do a little dancing to see which songs we like best? Add them to a playlist as we go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled, “Yes, that sounds like a perfect idea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John tugged him into his arms and Sherlock went willingly, unable to hide his grin and delight at getting to dance with the other man. He leaned in close and let John lead him around the room as Frank Sinatra crooned “Somewhere Beyond the Sea”. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They added that song and they added “Thinking Out Loud”, then John vetoed “Uptown Funk” and Sherlock vetoed “December, 1963”. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See,” John said as he hit the button on his phone to prompt the next song, “This isn’t so bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled Sherlock back into his arms as Etta James began to sing “At Last.” They swayed together, John’s hands sliding up and down Sherlock’s back as he held him close and hummed along softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d only made it halfway through when the lyrics really hit Sherlock and he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss John, sealing their lips together. John continued to sway their bodies, reaching up to cup Sherlock’s cheek as he kissed him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a relatively short song but neither of them noticed it ending, John’s hands slipped under Sherlock’s shirt and Sherlock’s fingers started to tug at John’s jumper. They undressed each other; kissing, and kissing, and kissing as they went. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they were naked, John backed Sherlock toward the couch and they got settled, John laying over Sherlock, still kissing like it was what they’d been made to do, possibly because it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” John murmured into Sherlock’s lips, sliding along his jaw and pressing warm open mouthed kisses as he went.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock wrapped his fingers in John’s hair, “I love you, too,” he replied, arching his body into the warmth and comfort of the other man’s familiar shape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They rocked against one another, drawing out the other’s pleasure as they kissed and touched, hands and lips roaming and touching everything they could reach. In the background, “Your Song” played but Sherlock only noticed it in a passing way because John’s hand slipped between their bodies to palm at Sherlock’s erection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock moaned against his lips, he slid his hands down John’s back until he reached his buttocks. He loved John’s arse, the small, smooth globes fit so perfectly in his palms. With a groan, he pulled John down against him, grinding John’s hard cock into the crease of his thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” John groaned, as he rut harder against Sherlock. His lips slid down Sherlock’s neck; licking and sucking lightly, before he nipped at his neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock whimpered, “John.” John sucked hard at the place he’d just bit a moment ago and Sherlock knew that there would be a lovely bruise there by the time they’d finished. Something thrilled in the pit of his stomach, knowing that everytime he looked in the mirror over the next few days, he would see that lovely mark marring his skin. “John,” he gasped. “I’m going to-'' John twisted his hand over the head of Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock orgasmed, spilling between their bodies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So fucking hot,” John groaned. He pulled back and sat up on his knees between Sherlock’s legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock moaned, eyes half mast as he watched John stroke himself; his hand steady and sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So beautiful,” John grunted, using his free hand to grip the back of the sofa and steady himself. “Gonna come on you,” he panted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cock twitching feebly against his stomach, Sherlock let out a low moan of encouragement, “Yes,” he whimpered. “Do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” John managed, “Fuck.” His hand sped up and it was only a moment before John was orgasming, adding to the mess on Sherlock’s belly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He collapsed forward and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, drawing him in closer. Sherlock peppered little kisses along the space between his neck and shoulder and John hummed happily at him. In the background Kelly Clarkson sang “Moment Like This”. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” John said after a few minutes of snuggling, “That was unexpected."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite,” Sherlock replied. “But not unwelcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel John’s smile pressed against his shoulder like a welcome brand, “Let’s get cleaned up,” John suggested after a moment. “We’ve got so many more songs to listen to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock grumbled but agreed when John suggested they take a quick shower together. How could he ever say no to more time with John Watson naked?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>---------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It kept happening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every fifteen to twenty songs they’d find themselves stripping out of bits of their clothing, rutting against each other, sucking one another off, and Sherlock even found himself bent over the sofa and being rimmed until he was coming with hardly any other stimulation at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Sherlock had shoved John into his chair, dropped to his knees, and sucked John off while he stroked himself to completion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock slumped over, resting his cheek against John’s thigh, while he caught his breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” John said, stroking his fingers gently through Sherlock’s curls, “I guess that’s another one to add to the playlist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t play that at our wedding!” Sherlock protested, head snapping up to look at John in horror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John laughed, “No,” he agreed. “I’m adding it to a ‘bedroom’ playlist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Sherlock replied. “Do you think that’s wise? Making us a playlist? I haven’t had this much sex in three days ever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other man chuckled, “It’s been quite a while for me. You have quite a stunning refractory period.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock was about to return the sentiment when John’s phone started ringing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John groaned and dug into his pocket, fetching his phone out, “Harry,” he told Sherlock before answering. “Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock took the opportunity to stand up and make himself presentable once more, you never knew when a certain little five-year-old might come down the stairs because she’d had a bad dream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” John gasped in horror and Sherlock spun to look at him, a million worst case scenario thoughts racing through his mind. “No. No way,” John said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he heard Harry cackling gleefully through the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John rubbed his forehead, “I hate you.” There was a pause as Harry replied, then he said, “Yes, thank you for telling me. Love you, too.” And he hung up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that all about?” Sherlock asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John groaned and covered his face, “Spotify playlists are public by default.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And?” Sherlock prompted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I named a playlist “the bedroom playlist” with a winky face,” John said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock was silent for a moment, then he burst out laughing, “You didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” John said.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry’s never going to let you live it down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nor is anyone, I’m afraid. It’s been picked up by the tabloids.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock stared at him, “Sorry, the tabloids?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John nodded, “According to Harry. It’s one of those ones that’s been trying to get us to do an interview about our engagement.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed again, he couldn’t help it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not funny,” John growled as he stood up out of the chair and tugged Sherlock’s body into his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock smoothed his hands over John’s shoulders and chest, “Oh, I think this is definitely one of the things that we’ll look back on and find hilarious.” He pressed a kiss to John’s forehead, “The only question is do we make it private or do we add really ridiculous things to the playlist to create as much mayhem as possible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>John laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock grinned triumphantly, “I’m thinking something completely ridiculous,” he continued. “You know, the ‘Hokey Pokey’ or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” John said, pressing his smiling face into Sherlock’s neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around John and rested his cheek against John’s head. “I love you, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he thought for the thousandth time that he couldn’t wait to do this for the rest of his life. </span>
</p>
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